The Serpents' Society and the Black Skull
by Amberdulen
Summary: Pre-OotP - The Triwizard Tournament has come to Hogwarts ... but the Society for Slytherin Advancement may have to deal with far more sinister developments.
1. Friends, Family and Floo

**Title:** The Serpents' Society and the Black Skull   
**Author:** Amberdulen   
**Rating:** PG for a little scary stuff and some marginally off-color jokes.   
**Summary:** This is a parallel novel to The Goblet of Fire and a sequel to the previous three Serpents' Society novels. Great pains have been taken to make sure that this book doesn't change the story told in GoF or contradict anything in the series. My unbelievably helpful beta-reader Giesbrecht has seen to that. If you get confused, I recommend reading The Serpents' Society and the Quest for the Heir (parallel of CoS), because it's better than the first Serpents' Society novel and lays the foundation for the third and fourth ones.   
**Spoilers:** All four novels and both textbooks.   
**Shipping:** Strictly Canon.   
**Disclaimer:** All the amusing and clever stuff belongs to Ms. Rowling, as do most of the fancy words.   
**Assumptions:** 1-Blaise Zabini is a girl, Morag MacDougal is a boy. 2-Warrington is two years older than Harry. 3-No one is going to pay me for writing this.   
**Reviews:** They rock. I can, however live without them. I'd appreciate it if you left a review at whatever point you stop reading the story, be it the first chapter or the last, to let me know why.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter One: Friends, Family and Floo**

The outskirts of Cerne Abbas, Dorset were silent in a still and stuffy heat. Amid the drooping leaves and exhausted grasses, and the far-spaced cottages with windows wide open begging for breeze, hardly a bird or human stirred under the bold summer sun. 

Then there was the Parson household. 

"Give it to me." 

"Ask nice." 

"Give it to me or I'll kill you." 

"Hmm, that's not very subtle for a Slytherin. What would Snape say?" 

"He'd say fork over the letter, Lycaeon, or I'll poison you with every potion I own!" 

The girl who was having difficulty getting her mail was Beth Parson, sixteen, and her twenty-eight-year-old brother was gleefully withholding the letter that had arrived by owl moments before. He examined the return address, carefully keeping it out of Beth's reach. 

"Let's see, it's from Richard Shaw ... You really don't need to read it, do you?" He made to put the letter in his pocket. 

_"Lycaeon Cyrus Parson, you know perfectly well why I want to read that letter!"_

"Sure," he said, with a cat's grin, holding it just out of her reach. "It's from Lover Boy." 

Beth lunged forward and snatched the letter from her brother's hands. "I'm not in love with Richard," she said sullenly, ripping open the letter. 

"That so?" said Lycaeon, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. "Then why do you blush every time you hear his name?" 

"I do not," said Beth, and blushed furiously. The truth was, she couldn't help but remember the last time she had seen Richard: at the train station at Hogsmeade, when he had unexpectedly kissed her cheek. 

"Mm hmm," said Lycaeon smugly, and strolled off. 

"I hate you," she called after him. 

"I know," he called back, and shut the door to his bedroom. 

Beth stuck her tongue out at the closed door just for spite, and then broke into a grin. She had never lived with her brother until two months ago, when he had been released from Azkaban on a very strict parole that forbade him from using a wand. She hadn't really known what to expect from the arrangement. But since Lycaeon had moved in, she had been teased, tormented, protected, goaded, and overruled -- and she was loving every minute of it. 

A slow shuffling noise from the hallway indicated the arrival of their father. William Parson was not quite seventy, but his arthritic joints and slow motion made it easy to think that he had passed that milestone. "Luke gave you the letter?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye. 

"Yeah, eventually," said Beth, with a halfhearted grudge. 

Mr. Parson stroked his prodigious chin, a facial characteristic that he had passed on to all three of his children. "Richard Shaw again, eh? He must enjoy talking to you." 

"Not you too!" said Beth, exasperated. "He's _just_ a friend!" 

"Yes, of course," said Mr. Parson mildly, and went past, whistling to himself. 

Muttering loudly about family members who could not keep their noses out of other people's business, Beth retreated to her bedroom and tore open the envelope. As much as she was teased about it, she knew full well that the letter would contain nothing romantic whatsoever -- unless you counted the great love of Richard's life, which was the secret Slytherin organization that he captained. 

The letter read: 

_    Greetings from the student chapter of the Society for Slytherin Advancement 

    Gloria serpens! I hope you've all had a relaxing summer, because we've got a   
    lot of work to do this year.

_

She could almost hear Richard's proud, cheery voice as she read the letter to herself. 

    _The Triwizard Tournament is finally here, and hopefully some of you have   
    been able to pick up more information about it over the summer. Every single   
    one of us is entering. I recommend hitting the books early this year to make   
    sure that the Hogwarts Champion is also an S.S.A. member. 

    We'll be seeing more of our alumni President, Jules Rothbard, since as   
    a member of the board of governors he's invited to watch the   
    Tournament. This will give us a good chance to hear about what the   
    rest of the Society has been up to, and to brag about what we managed   
    to do at the end of last year.

_

What they had managed to do was prevent Harry Potter and Hermione Granger from being devoured by a werewolf: specifically, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in rather furrier than usual attire. They had failed to capture Sirius Black, as was their intent, but then again so had the entire Ministry of Magic. Rumor had it that Black had skipped the country. 

    _Our first meeting will be held at 11:00 p.m. on the Thursday after   
    we get back. We'll be inducting Oren Bergeron and Audra Verona. Your   
    secretary Beth Parson and I will be escorting them to the Vase Room at   
    11:30; until then, vice-president Melissa Ollivander will start the   
    meeting and go over the old business. 

    See you soon, and, as always, gloria serpens. 

    Your President,   
    Richard Shaw

_

Beth grinned. Richard was fervently obsessed with advancing Slytherin and impressing Dumbledore, and he was especially serious about -- 

--the grin fell from her face -- 

--about keeping the Society's secrets. 

Beth darted to the bathroom and hurled the letter into the sink just before it burst into flames. 

She let the parchment burn down to ashes before washing it down the drain. "I should know by now," she sighed to herself. 

Lycaeon strolled by, hawk nose sniffing the smoky air. "What'd he do, douse it in cologne?" 

"A self-destruct spell," Beth told him. She leaned against the sink. "Doesn't Jules Rothbard do the same for you, with the alumni letters?" 

"Our President," said Lycaeon, "unlike yours, is not insane." He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame. "So now that you've got your little love note out of the way --" 

"Hey!" 

"-- I need a favor from you." 

Beth crossed her arms and grinned. "Just _why_ should I do _you_ a favor?" 

"'Cause I'm cute," said Lycaeon promptly. "Anyway," he went on, over Beth's good-natured refutation, "can you do the cooking tonight, instead of Dad? I want it to be edible. I've got a friend coming over for dinner." 

"Oh ho!" Beth raised her eyebrows. "Who is she?" 

"Dave Gudgeon." 

"Really!" Beth was delighted. "Why didn't you say something! I'll make a pot roast, it's my specialty. And the asparagus is ripe. Go harvest me some asparagus," she ordered. "Not the big thick stuff, the little thin shoots that aren't to seed yet. Go!" 

"You make _us_ eat the big thick ones," Lycaeon pouted good-naturedly. 

"You're family," said Beth pointedly. "I don't have to be nice to you. Now get going!" 

Lycaeon surrendered and headed outside. Beth smiled. Having -- and being -- a sibling was turning out to be quite agreeable.   


***

  
Their company arrived by broomstick. He drifted down in the front yard and parked near the birdbath, frightening away a flock of skylarks. 

Dave Gudgeon had a long scar running vertically down his left eye. Back at Hogwarts, he had gotten kicked in the head by a centaur, although he let out the story that it had been done by the Whomping Willow. He was also an S.S.A. member, and in Beth's opinion, a pretty great guy. 

Dinner passed pleasantly. Beth couldn't help but notice the way her father sat straighter, and looked at Lycaeon with such pride. She'd never known Luke before this year -- she couldn't imagine what it was to lose a son and then have him back again. 

Dave Gudgeon filled his plate with some more mashed potatoes. "Don't suppose you lot went to the World Cup, did you?" 

"Oh no," said Lycaeon easily. "D'you know what the price of tickets was by the time I ... eh ... moved in?" 

"Far too much," said Dave. "I should know, I paid it. And then you had to put down another ten galleons for Omnioculars, just so you could see what was going on." 

"We stayed home and listened to the game on the wireless, didn't we, Beth?" Mr. Parson smiled his slow, sweet smile. 

"Yeah," said Beth. "We had a cookout on the front lawn and listened to the game outside." 

"It sounds lovely," said Dave. "Me and my mates had to show up twelve days early, our tickets were so cheap. Good thing one of them knew how to cook. He could do things with baked beans like you'd never believe. The game was worth it, though." 

"It sounded fantastic," said Beth. 

Dave reached for a third helping of pot roast. "It was. Aidan Lynch -- Irish Seeker, you know -- got ploughed into the ground twice. He was a real mess, but the Bulgarian Seeker got hit in the face with a Bludger, and he looked worse." 

The meal was a rousing success. Beth was rather proud of herself that the pot roast had turned out so well (and been devoured so heartily). She had just finished clearing the dishes when there was a quick whooshing noise from the living room. It was followed by a loud _pop_, a louder cry of surprise, and a thud that was even louder yet. 

They all rushed to the living room. 

Mrs. Scamander sat spread-eagle on the floor across from the fireplace. Her wrinkled face was smudged with ash and her eyes were wide with surprise. Little shards of porcelain dotted the floor around her. She held a large chocolate cake in one ancient hand. 

"Porpentina --" Mr. Parson said, and hurried to help her. 

"Oh, hello dears," Mrs. Scamander said, struggling to her feet. "You'll want to have that looked at, Bill ... blew me out like a bezoar from a goat! I do hope Mr. Scamander comes through all right ... he was right behind me ... here you are, dear," she said fondly, handing the chocolate cake to Lycaeon. 

"I'm fattened up already --" Lycaeon protested. 

"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Scamander, "you're skin and bone. Now, what was it I broke? ... oh, your little lighthouse figurines. Bill, I'm so sorry ..." She flicked her wand and the shards reassembled and flew back onto the shelf. She turned back, beaming, and caught sight of Dave Gudgeon for the first time. "Oh," she said, flustered. "You have company." 

"Don't worry, Porpentina, he's one of us," Mr. Parson said kindly, as Mrs. Scamander cast a worried look over her shoulder at the reassembled porcelain lighthouses. "Dave Gudgeon, he's a school friend of Luke's. We were just having him over for dinner." 

Dave bowed politely. Mrs. Scamander adjusted her hat. "How do you do, Mr. Gudgeon?" 

"Ever onward," Dave smiled. "Your cake looks absolutely gorgeous." 

"D'you think so?" Mrs. Scamander tried to pat some of the ashes from her shoulders and cheeks. "You're welcome to try some ... Lycaeon is right, he's quite fattened up already ..." Taking Dave's arm, she whisked the cake away from Lycaeon and led him into the kitchen. 

The Parson family exchanged glances and tried their best to smother their laughter. 

In the kitchen, Mrs. Scamander had seated Dave Gudgeon and was delivering him an admirable slice of cake. "Now you just finish that right up," she cooed. "My Newt, he loves the marshmallow frosting ..." 

"Didn't you say your husband was on the way?" Dave said, an overloaded forkful already on the way to his mouth. 

"Oh, don't worry about Newt," Mrs. Scamander said fondly. "He probably got distracted playing with the Porlock again ..." 

_Boom._

The front door flew open. There stood Mr. Scamander, looking as cranky as usual, covered from tip to toe with inky black soot. A few charcoal briquettes clung tenebrously to the hem of his robes. 

"Newton!" cried Mrs. Scamander. "You haven't been hunting Ashwinders again, have you?" 

Mr. Scamander reared up indignantly. "Ashwinders? The blasted Floo spat me out in the barbecue pit!" He turned on Beth's father. "You get those do-nothing Floo fellows in here first thing and have your connection realigned. You've been scammed! Ashwinders, indeed," he added, shooting a look at his wife. 

"He's been trying all summer to catch one," Mrs. Scamander confided, flicking her wand at her husband. The soot and charcoal rose off of his robes in a cloud and vanished. "Lighting magical fires all over the place and letting them burn down. He'll get his Ashwinder one of these days, just you wait -- it'll burn the house down, you mark my words. Sit down, dear, have some cake." 

Grumbling, the old writer obliged. 

With the new company, the conversation crawled to more adult topics: the International Confederations of Wizards meeting that had been held in July, a new policy at Gringott's (Beth didn't pay very close attention to that one), and the international ban on dueling. Mr. Scamander was incensed that the Transylvanians wouldn't sign it. Dave thought that Britain should have never signed it. Mrs. Scamander deftly sidelined the argument by serving up second helpings of her fabulous cake. Nothing, she whispered to Beth, distracted a man like a plate of good food. 

Mr. and Mrs. Scamander Apparated off to bed by ten o'clock, but it was late at night when Dave stood up, stretching, and declared that he had to be off. Beth made him a Tupperware full of leftovers (Dave was fascinated by the rubber lid with "burp" technology). Beth chucked the dirty dishes in the sink for the next morning and went upstairs to her bedroom, while Luke followed Dave out to the porch to see him off. 

It was a hot, sticky night, especially upstairs. Beth crawled across her bed and opened the window that overlooked the porch. She intended to go to her desk and pound out part of a long-neglected Transfiguration essay ... but the sound of her own name stopped her. 

"You're lucky to have her, Luke." 

"She's sweet ... when I was in Azkaban, I kept hoping she'd never find out ... about us ... but now I'm glad she did." 

Luke and Dave were still chatting on the porch beneath the window. A surprising warmth spread through Beth's chest and she smiled. 

"You're coming to the Society meeting next month?" 

"Yeah." Lycaeon chuckled. "I spent all my first months' wages getting a fireplace installed so we could hook up to the Floo." Beth muffled her giggles. It had been a fiasco: brick, mortar and greenish powder had strewn the living room for a week. Still, since using the Floo network didn't require a wand, it was one of the few things still connecting her brother to the wizarding world. "Dad never needed it before ... daresay they'll all be surprised to see me." 

"No doubt ..." Dave's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. "Luke. I've been meaning to talk to you." 

There was a questioning silence. 

"You read the Prophet -- about the World Cup? The riots?" 

Lycaeon let out a sound of anger. "Stop right there, Dave, I know what you're going to say." 

Dave forged ahead. "The Dark Mark in the sky ... the Death Eaters on the prowl ..." 

"Not listening ..." 

"I know what it must've been for you to read about it ..." 

"_Nothing,_ I felt _nothing_ when I read about it ..." 

"Listen, all I'm saying is --" 

"-- I know what you're trying to say, Dave --" 

"No, just shut up for a minute, will you!" Dave's voice grew sharp. "He's still trying to come back and everybody knows it! Just -- Luke --" 

"--I don't have to listen to this --" 

"Lycaeon --" 

"Ought to walk away --" 

"Luke!" 

Lycaeon fell silent. 

"Don't forget what it was like in Azkaban!" The night seemed quieter. Beth's heart leapt nervously. "Think about what it was like then, and what things are like now." 

"I know what it was like." Lycaeon was sullen. 

"And _never forget it._" 

A cricket sang from across the field. 

"D'you think I ever could?" 


	2. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Express**

It took a week for the Floo repairmen to completely troubleshoot the Parsons' connection. Luke wouldn't let either of them use it until he had tried it both ways several times; eventually, though, he had to admit that it was in perfect order. Beth was delighted with the results when she took the trip to Diagon Alley. As the new fireplace in their home made traveling so much easier, both Mr. Parson and Lycaeon accompanied Beth to King's Cross Station to meet the Hogwarts Express. To Beth's surprise, her father handled the trip effortlessly. 

"We used to take the Floo all the time," Lycaeon whispered, as Mr. Parson smartly dusted off his pants and stepped out on the other end. "I don't suppose he's done it for a while, but he must've used it loads of times before." 

The hustle of the train station was as familiar as the students that hurried past, clutching cats and owl cages and trying to look as if it was perfectly natural to be taking a broom on a long train trip. Beth hugged both of them goodbye before strolling easily through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. It was another thing that had become second nature to her after five years of routine. 

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was, as always, a hubbub of see-you-soons to the parents and how've-you-beens to the other Hogwarts pupils. This year it was also a jungle of mist, owing to the heavy rain that beat onto the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Under the usual chatter, though, only one topic prevailed: 

"Were you there?" 

"Did you see it?" 

"Wasn't it great? 

Even the adults were still bubbling about the Quidditch Cup. Beth heard a conductor ruefully telling some of his chums about how much he had lost betting in favor of Bulgaria. "Knew Krum would snag it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one grimy hand. "Thought it'd be sooner, though." 

The train gave a low boarding whistle. Beth was almost done loading her things onto the train when she was attacked from behind. "Hi, Bruce," she laughed, struggling against the arms that held her in a tight bear hug. 

Bruce Bletchley let her go. "How'd you know it was me?" 

"Through the mystic smoke of the Hogwarts Express," Beth whispered, in her best impression of Professor Trelawney, "I interpreted the signs ..." 

"Beth! Bruce!" 

"Bet you didn't see that coming," Bruce grinned, as Melissa Ollivander dropped her bags onto the ground and throttled them both in an enormous hug. 

"Hi, Mel! How was your --" 

"It was wonderful," Melissa broke in breathlessly. "After you couldn't come to the World Cup, Beth, Mum and Dad let me invite Galen instead --" Galen Melhorn, a graduated Gryffindor, had been Melissa's boyfriend for almost three years. "-- and we got excellent seats, right beneath the top box, you know ... just a few seats away from the families of the players ... and Bruce, I ran into Uther Montague in the campground, he says hello -- he's with the owl post these days --" 

She broke off suddenly. "_What_ are you wearing?" 

Bruce's t-shirt read: "Quidditch players do it on the fly." 

"Where did you get that?" Melissa stammered, over Beth's sniggering. 

"Couple of Americans were selling them out of their tent in the campground," said Bruce. "I really wanted one that said 'Just because I'm Keeper, doesn't mean I can't score,' but they were all sold out." 

"Pity," said Melissa dryly. 

"Yeah," Bruce sighed. 

They all ducked through the rain and crowded onto the train without getting too wet. The front compartments were mostly taken, so they wove through the many students crowding the aisleway and found an empty place near the back. Before long, the familiar sound of the train whistle cut through the relentless rain, and the Hogwarts Express lurched into motion. 

Of everything that made Hogwarts home, the thing Beth loved the most was the train ride to school. There was always something to talk about; no one was ever in a bad mood, her friends were back together after being scattered for months ... Beth couldn't imagine anywhere that she would rather be. 

The hours passed easily. Their talk was the easy conversation of those who have had five long years of acquaintance. Eventually, of course, talk turned back to the World Cup: reminiscences of especially good moments, speculation on what either team could've done differently, and even wondering about the next World Cup. (Not that any of them would probably be there; it was slated to be held four years later, in Zaire.) Beth didn't regret not seeing the match. She had spent the summer with her brother and father -- and after the trials of the previous year, valued that family time all the more. 

The food cart came and left, considerably more empty than when it had arrived. Outside, the storm thundered. In compartment 12B, the debate raged over whether Viktor Krum's capture of the Snitch had been heroic or supremely thick. 

"You catch the Snitch so your team wins," Bruce said, mowing through Cauldron Cakes like he hadn't eaten since April. "His team was too far behind. He should've pretended he'd never seen it, and tried to plough Lynch again." 

"He did the only thing he could do," said Melissa primly. "He _knew_ Bulgaria would never catch up ..." 

"They didn't _have_ to catch up," Bruce insisted. "They just had to narrow the gap to fourteen goals or under. They could've done that. Zograf was just hitting his stride, he's never in the zone until seven or eight minutes into the game anyway --" 

"Seven or eight minutes can lose a game, you know," said Melissa. 

Bruce threw up his hands. "As if you know anything about Quidditch!" 

"For your information, Mr. Bletchley, I spent all summer studying about Quidditch to get ready for the World Cup!" 

Bruce looked like he wanted to say something -- possibly about how it was impossible to learn a sport from a book -- but he caught the look on Melissa's face and refrained. Beth was glad. The last time she had that ferocious sort of glint in her eye, she had spent the entire year driving everybody crazy over women's rights. 

Very fortunately for everyone, the conversation was interrupted by an enthusiastic knock on the door of their cart. Without waiting to be invited in, Aaron Pucey and his best friend Warrington, both sixth-year Slytherins, poked their heads inside. 

"Hey!" Bruce greeted them delightedly. All three of them had been on the house Quidditch team at some point. "How are you? What's up?" 

"Draco says he's got big news," Aaron grinned. "Might be about the team, eh? Maybe he's picked up something from watching Krum and Lynch." He nudged Warrington low in the ribs, that being all the higher he could comfortably reach. "It's our year to get the Cup back." 

"Once and for all," boomed Warrington. His voice had deepened again. 

"You think he's got a new tactic?" Bruce said anxiously, rising from his seat. "Man, what I wouldn't give to see him feint Potter into the ground." 

"You and me both," Aaron agreed fervently. "Come on then, half the house is already there." 

Leaving their things behind, the four of them got up and followed their classmates down the corridor of the train. 

The compartment was so full already that Slytherin students spilled out into the corridor and filled up the compartment across the aisle. At the center of it all was Draco Malfoy, the smug and comfortable captor of everyone's attention. He was ringed by the rest of the fourth-years, several Quidditch players, and innumerable admirers. He had already changed into his school robes. 

"Do you think there are quite enough people here yet, Draco?" Blaise Zabini said dryly, from Draco's right. "Or would you like us to spread the word to the Ravenclaws too?" 

He looked down his nose at her. "That won't be necessary," he said coolly. He looked around at the assembly like a king before his courtiers. "You've all heard that something's going on at Hogwarts this year? Something secret, something big?" 

There were nods and murmurs. Beth had heard nothing over the summer, but she recognized immediately what he was talking about -- Richard's letter had reminded her. Bruce's shoulders slumped as he, too, grasped what the "big news" was. He had obviously been hoping for something Quidditch-related. 

"They're getting rid of Gryffindor tower?" someone said excitedly. Laughs and groans mingled between the two compartments, combined with a lot of "I wish" as well. 

"No, they can't destroy it," Draco said. "Where else would they store all that hot air?" He smirked as his joke drew laughter from the crowd. There was nothing that Draco enjoyed more than being at the center of things. 

"Just _tell_ us, Draco," Pansy Parkinson pleaded. 

Draco patted her hand. "All right then. Hogwarts is going to be hosting a Triwizard Tournament this year -- we'll be having visitors from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons." His eyes glinted. "Only one student from each school can enter." 

A ripple of excitement spread through the students. Their reactions were amusing to watch. Most of the Slytherins were pretending that they had already known about the Tournament; the S.S.A. members were all trying to act as if they hadn't known about it for the past three years. 

"You're going to enter, Draco, of course?" Pansy said, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. 

"Of course," said Draco contemptuously. "All that fame? I'd be mad not to. Of course, the Weasleys will be entering for the money ... you could feed their family for almost a week on all that ..." 

There was laughter around the compartment. There were so many Weasleys that just about everybody had class with one or two of them, and there were frequent discussions in the common room over which ones of them were the worst. 

Draco, it turned out, didn't know much more about the Tournament, so after a little group discussion everybody left. Nobody minded the scant information; the Slytherins had all grown to enjoy lording over the other houses something they knew but no one else did, no matter how little it was. Chatting and laughing, they dispersed to their separate compartments, in a good mood and feeling comfortably superior. 

By that time, the train had almost reached its destination, and a long, low whistle warned the students that it was time to change into their school robes and prepare to disembark. Beth and her friends slid into their compartment and started pulling on their robes over their jeans and t-shirts. 

"I wonder where Mervin is?" said Bruce, as he fastened the collar of his cloak. "Haven't seen the fellow yet." 

"He'll be around," said Beth. "He's probably off sulking." She yanked her robes over her head. "Never was a very happy -- what the --?" 

She jammed her hand up her left sleeve and pulled out a twelve-foot strand of ivy. It had been cut, but recently -- the notched leaves were still green and shiny. 

"Weird," she said slowly. 

Melissa leaned in to look at the plant. "What is that?" 

"How should I know?" Beth shrugged, tossing it on the ground. The vine landed at Bruce's feet. "I dropped Herbology." 

But Bruce had leapt backward as if the ivy were a snake. "Don't chuck that around!" he yelped. "That's poison ivy!" 

"Oh _bugger,_" said Beth. She started struggling out of her tainted robes. 

Suddenly Melissa let out a short, piercing shriek. Beth whirled to see her best friend's long, brown hair twist and begin to rise, as if it had been caught in a sudden whirlwind. The long locks floated upward, braiding themselves haphazardly, until they stood ramrod-straight three feet tall. The hair stiffened. Then hundreds of full, green leaves burst into bloom. 

Bruce started to laugh. 

"It _isn't funny,_ Bletchley," Melissa snarled. Her hands hovered near the shrub as if she didn't quite dare to feel the damage. 

"Yes it is," said Bruce. He laughed for about four more seconds before yellow tentacles sprouted all over his face. 

The Hogwarts Express screeched into Hogsmeade station to the sound of one long, furious cry. 

_"Weasleys!"_

***

"You look like Marie Antoinette," sniggered Bruce. 

Melissa sneered at him, and the three feet of foliage on her head bobbed slightly under its shawl. "And you look like a sea anemone." 

"Just make for the infirmary," Beth pleaded, clawing at her arm under the sleeve. The poison ivy had started to take effect; she could practically feel the pustules rising on her skin. "Oh -- wait -- we have to find Mervin! Someone has to record the Sorting --" 

"There he is," said Bruce. His voice was slightly muffled as he had wrapped his scarf around his entire face. At the same time, Mervin Fletcher seemed to spot them and came running across the Entrance Hall to meet them. 

Mervin was soaking wet and looked very relieved to see them. "There you are!" he said. "I couldn't find you on the train -- I had to sit with these firsties that haven't even been _Sorted_ yet --" He caught sight of Melissa's towering turban. "What are you keeping under there, the Dark Lord?" 

"We're going to the hospital wing," said Melissa, in an extremely dignified tone. "You have to hand out the S.S.A. notes." 

"And take notes on the Sorting," Beth added. 

Mervin's face fell. "I have to do the _potato_ thing?" 

But the others were already on their way down the hall. 

_"And take notes,"_ Beth called over her shoulder. 

***

Surprisingly, they were not the only ones in the infirmary. A house-elf sat on one of the cots, legs dangling over the edge. The nurse, Madame Pomfrey, was putting a plaster on the end of one of the elf's batlike ears. She finished and put her hands on her hips. 

"There you are, all patched up," said Madame Pomfrey briskly. "I'm sorry about what happened ... Willy, is it?" 

"Gilly, miss," squeaked the house-elf. He bounded down from the cot and scurried out the door. 

Madame Pomfrey sighed and shook her head. "It's so difficult to keep them all straight." She looked up at Beth's group. "What's this, then? Not fighting on the Hogwarts Express?" 

"We don't know for sure," Beth said darkly, furiously scratching her arm, "but we think it was a Weasley attack." 

"Say no more," said Madame Pomfrey. In a flash she had them sitting around on the infirmary cots. She bustled away and came back with a cart filled with supplies: her wand, a beaker full of pink paste, some bandages, a vial of glimmering yellow potion, and a pair of pruning shears. 

She handed the vial of potion to Bruce and ordered him to drink. He did, grimacing, and put the empty vial back on the cart. Then he pulled a sickly face and belched loudly. His eyes turned as yellow as the potion had been. "Urgh ..." said Bruce, as the yellow color swept across his skin, hair and even fingernails, "I think I'm going to ..." 

"Don't you dare," said Madame Pomfrey. "You need that stuff in you. Hold still, it'll only be a moment." 

Bruce clamped his lips shut and clenched his eyes tightly. 

Madame Pomfrey picked up the pruning shears and advanced on Melissa. "Hold still, dear," she ordered, and she began to snip away at the overgrown shrub sprouting out of Melissa's head. 

"What happened to the house-elf?" Melissa asked, as Madame Pomfrey carefully pruned her hair back to its usual length. 

"Peeves," she huffed. "Causing trouble as usual. Hurling pots and pans around the kitchens, overturning the soup -- as if the poor dears didn't have enough to worry about, what with the ovens and the knives and what-have-you -- and poor Nelly ... Rolly ... well anyway, this one got clipped in the ear by a big roasting pan." She snipped a final vine away from Melissa's head. "There, you're trimmed back ... now close your eyes, dear ..." She tapped Melissa on the head with her wand and all the leaves fell off, leaving ordinary brown hair behind. "That's it, you can open them up again." 

Melissa paled at the sight of her molted leaves scattered on the cot, but calmed when Beth assured her that her hair was quite back to normal. Bruce nodded his agreement. The yellow color had faded, and the tentacles were gone, but he still didn't look like he was feeling well. 

"Splendid," said Madame Pomfrey briskly, as she banished the molted leaves with a sweep of her wand. "Now onto you. Roll up your sleeve, please." 

Beth carefully rolled her sleeve back. The blisters had swelled, and there were new bumps where there had been none before. It was thoroughly disgusting. 

Madame Pomfrey bent over to examine the skin and tutted loudly. "Scratched it, did you?" she scolded. Beth nodded. "This is ordinary old poison ivy, my dear, and I'll never forgive you if you scratch at it again. Spreads like wildfire, this stuff. I forbid you to touch it." 

She lathered a layer of the pink paste all over Beth's arm and dabbed it onto both hands for good measure. The aching itch faded immediately. Then she wrapped the whole thing in bandages. "Horrible plant," she said, as she wound the bandages around each finger individually, "it'll be three weeks before this fades. More if you scratch it. Have all of your clothes washed immediately." She leveled Beth with a severe glare. Then she thrust the paste into Beth's bandaged hands. "Reapply as necessary." 

Beth nodded obediently. Bruce hiccupped. 

***

The feast was almost finished by the time they made their way down to the Great Hall. They slipped in as quietly as they could and took seats near Aaron and Warrington. 

"Where were you?" growled Warrington, through a mouthful of steak. 

"Weasleys," said Bruce. 

All of them looked across the Hall to the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins nudged each other and waved, wearing twin grins of triumph. 

"You'll never believe what they did during the Sorting," Aaron said, while Bruce turned away from the Gryffindors, glowering. "See that kid down there, with the curly black hair and the freckles? He got Sorted into Slytherin and they _hissed_ at him." 

Beth was appalled. "They didn't!" 

"They would, and you know it," said Melissa, angrily slopping mashed potatoes onto her plate. 

"They absolutely did," said Aaron. He smacked his fist into his other hand. "I've got to get on the team this year, Bruce -- it's the only way to take them down once and for all!" 

Beth looked at him, worried. "You're not going to try out for the team again? After all those injuries?" 

"My arm's better now," Aaron insisted. "I can write again and everything. Bruce, you've got to let me play Beater again. I practiced every day over the summer, I swear. And I was watching Vulchanov and Quigley extra careful at the Quidditch Cup, I mean they're two of the best Beaters in the _world_ --" 

"Trials are in two weeks, Aaron," Bruce murmured. 

"Well, couldn't you ... I mean, I _am_ in your class ..." 

"Wait until the trials," Bruce said firmly, and Aaron fell into disappointed silence. 

Melissa was giving Bruce a look. "What've you got to do with the decision?" she asked suspiciously. 

Bruce shrugged awkwardly. "Well ... I'm captain this year." 

Melissa looked astonished. "Captain?" she said. "But you buggered out of the championship game last year!" 

Bruce reddened but held his ground. "All the players know why," he said, "and they voted for me anyway." 

"Congratulations," Beth said quickly. "You'll do a fantastic job, won't he, Mel?" 

Melissa picked at her mashed potatoes. "You know, maybe I'll try out for the team this year." 

Her classmates stopped and stared. 

"You'll -- what, sorry?" Bruce said, twisting a finger in one ear. 

"Yes, I think I will. I'm going to try out for Chaser." Melissa looked round at them all resolutely. 

There was another moment or two of silence. Then Aaron Pucey said, "Don't be stupid, Melissa, you've never played Quidditch in your life." 

Sometimes, Beth thought, Aaron was even thicker than Warrington. 

But Melissa held her temper. "At least I know the rule about staying on your broom," she said sweetly. 

Aaron turned beet-red as his classmates jeered. Everyone remembered when he had taken a fifty-foot fall in the middle of the Ravenclaw game two years ago. Back then the incident had been frightening -- Aaron had been unconscious for a week -- but now it was one more piece of ammunition that made up a Slytherin arsenal. 

Aaron looked like he might try to work up another barb of his own, but just then the food and plates faded away, and peace was maintained. At the Head Table, Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling, as he always did, at the very thought of another school year. 

"So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices." 

"Oh!" Beth, as Society secretary, was supposed to be taking notes on everything that Dumbledore said. She dug around in her pockets and pulled out her new Quick-Quotes Quill -- a back-to-school gift from Lycaeon. She hadn't had a chance to try it out yet. She licked the nub and held the pen over her napkin, where it hovered on its point. When Dumbledore began to speak, it skated along the napkin, recording the Headmaster's words. 

The first several announcements were all the usual: no magic, making out, or Fanged Frisbees in the halls, and the Forbidden Forest was still forbidden. Beth was pleased with the way her quill worked. It wrote in Beth's handwriting, which was kind of eerie, but it was very good at punctuation and even knew when to start a new paragraph. Beth was just thinking how she might dictate some of her essays this year, just to see how it went, when Dumbledore said something that broke in over her thoughts: 

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year." 

There were gasps around the Great Hall. Beth's jaw dropped. She looked quickly at Bruce -- he sat watching Dumbledore with a slightly puzzled expression. He tilted his head quizzically toward Beth. 

"I thought I heard him say ..." 

_"He did,"_ moaned Aaron. 

Unimaginable horror dawned on Bruce's face. 

Dumbledore forged ahead quickly. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy -- but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts --" 

_Bang._

The doors to the Great Hall burst open. In a flash of lightning Beth could make out a stooped, cloaked figure hovering ominously in the doorway. The room fell into a tense hush. Slowly, the cloaked stranger lowered his hood and began to walk between the long tables toward Dumbledore at the front of the room. 

His hair was shaggy and gray, his face a network of wrinkles and scars of a more ominous derivation. One of his eyes was large, crystal-blue, and it rolled around in his grizzled face with no regard to the motions of the other eye. Beth was weirdly fascinated with the way his absurd eye seemed to take in the entire hall, while the other kept a steady gaze on Dumbledore. 

He reached the Head Table, shook hands with Dumbledore, and took his seat beside the headmaster. Completely disregarding the wide-eyed stillness of the students around him, he pulled out a pocketknife and began to eat. 

The room was deathly silent. 

"No Quidditch?" said Bruce faintly. 

_"Bruce!"_ Beth hissed, horrified that someone might have heard him, but thankfully the Headmaster broke the silence for himself. 

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Professor Moody." 

Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid started to applaud -- they were the only two -- but at the pronouncement of the name, Beth felt a rill of tension ripple through her table and disappear under the rows of carefully cool exteriors. Moody ... Mad-Eye Moody ... where had she heard that name before ...? She saw now that the nickname fit him perfectly. The one magical eye was eerie, true -- but the other one glinted with sharp intellect, observation, and mistrust. Mad indeed. He would have to be watched. 

"As I was saying," Dumbledore went on, over the deathly silence of the hall, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year." 

"You're JOKING!" one of the Weasley twins said loudly. 

Most of the hall broke into nervous laughter. Professor Dumbledore smiled at the Gryffindor table. 

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley, though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar ..." 

Professor McGonagall fixed her gaze on him and cleared her throat. 

"Er -- but maybe this is not the time ... no ... where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament ... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely." 

_Thank goodness,_ Beth thought. "Make sure you get all this down," she whispered to her quill, which bobbed dutifully as it swept across the page, recording Dumbledore's every word. Instead of paying attention to Dumbledore's speech, however, Beth fixed her gaze on the prefect's table, where Richard Shaw was watching the headmaster with rapt attention. 

Richard. Beth chewed on her lower lip. He'd only written her a few times over the summer; only once or twice when it didn't have to do with the S.S.A. None of it had been remotely romantic. But he _had_ kissed her at the end of the year ... only on the cheek, but nonetheless ... and he had looked so embarrassed afterward. Beth let out a nervous little sigh. What if he really _had_ been embarrassed -- what if he _regretted_ it? He hadn't come to find her on the train, and he certainly wasn't paying attention to her now, not when Dumbledore was outlining the rules for the Tournament ... 

"... have agreed to impose an age limit on the contenders this year. Only students who are of age -- that is to say, seventeen years or older -- will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration." 

Melissa let out a cry of outrage. Aaron almost stood up in his fury. 

"So ... no Quidditch this year," said Bruce. 

"This is a measure we feel is necessary," Dumbledore went on, raising his voice slightly to trump the exclamations and complaints, "given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." 

He cast a knowing eye at the Gryffindors ... entirely missing the calculating look that fell over Richard's face. _We're usually on your side, Dumbledore, but when it comes to glory the Society stands alone._

"I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen." 

Dumbledore smiled. "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!" 

Beth collected her pen and napkin and joined the rest of the school in the swarm toward the common rooms. 

The password was "Empyreon." You could tell a lot about your prefect by the passwords they chose, Beth reflected. Two years ago, with Randall Riggs, it had been things like "pure blood" and "anaconda". Richard tended toward cheerier terms -- he had been known to use "Elysium", "Nirvana" and "Valhalla", all of which were slight exaggerations of the quality of the Slytherin dormitories. 

She spotted him across the common room, chatting with a bunch of other seventh-years. He caught sight of her and gave her a smile. Ignoring the way her stomach jumped nervously, she smiled back. 

She had thought it would be awkward to see him again. In fact, Richard didn't look remotely embarrassed. _Maybe he doesn't remember,_ Beth thought, and flushed pink. 

"Beth!" He broke off from his seventh-year friends and came over to her. "Did you have a good summer with your family?" 

"It was great," Beth beamed. "How about you? Did you make it to the World Cup?" 

"Oh, yes," said Richard. "I had to sit with my parents' business associates -- half of them missed the ending, they couldn't stop talking about the company --" He blushed. Then he drew a deep breath as if savoring the scent of the chandeliers. "It's going to be a good year." 

"Can't be worse than last year, can it?" Beth laughed. 

Richard smiled. "I certainly hope not." 

"Oy! Prefect!" A clutch of first-years stood in the center of the room. Two or three were snickering to each other; a few had their arms crossed imperiously. A snub-nosed boy with curly black hair had spoken up from the center of the group. "Where's our rooms?" 

"Oops -- duty calls," said Richard, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He lowered his voice. "Rude little blighters, aren't they? It'll be a job picking out two of them for the you-know-what." He stood up and started toward the first-years, calling, "All right then, I'm on my way ..." 

Beth watched him go. She let out a little sigh and turned back towards her own dormitories. Melissa had her arms crossed and a very wide smirk across her face. Beth blushed brilliantly. 

"Hey!" 

They turned around to see Mervin Fletcher standing there with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. 

"Where the devil were you at dinner?" Mervin demanded. 

"The Weasleys --" Melissa began. 

"Do you have _any idea_ how hard it is to give a baked potato to somebody who doesn't want it? The kid, Bergeron, whatever his name is, he _hates_ baked potatoes, didn't want it _near_ him, kept moving it back to my plate -- as if _I_ needed another enchanted letter from the S.S.A. --" 

"What did you do?" asked Beth, fighting to hide her smile. 

"I took the note out of the potato," said Mervin, "and I stuck it in his cinnamon roll." 

Bruce smiled. "You know, maybe it's time to change that tradition." 

"Audra took it, didn't she?" Melissa said anxiously. "I was spying on her, you know, she's so sweet and quiet ..." 

"She didn't move," Mervin said. "She didn't say a word. All she did was _look_ at me ... she has these weird blue eyes, they look half gray ..." He shuddered. "In any case I'm never going to do that again." 

"You're off the hook for this year," Melissa told him. She yawned hugely. "Ugh, I'm off to bed. It's been a long day ..." 

Beth and Melissa bid the boys goodnight and headed upstairs to their dormitory. Their classmate Antigone von Dervish was already there; she always went to bed early, claiming that it was the secret of her flawless complexion, which made sneaking out to S.S.A. meetings a great deal easier for the other two girls. 

"Good summer, Antigone?" Melissa asked cheerfully. She always got on better with Antigone than Beth did. "Break many hearts?" 

Antigone was dabbing Caducea's Cold Cream onto her delicate cheeks. "None that didn't deserve it," she said lazily. She put down the cold cream and got to work on her nails. 

"It's exciting, isn't it?" said Melissa, laying out her clothes for the next day. "The Tournament. Such a grand event at Hogwarts -- and foreign visitors, too." 

"That depends on the foreigners," Antigone yawned. "Of course, I've known about it for months. My parents, you know, have very good connections." She sat down on her bed and began brushing her long blonde hair thoughtfully. "I even had time to learn a bit of Spanish before the foreigners get here. _Te quiero, guapo,_" she purred huskily, in illustration, and smiled proudly. 

"Er ..." said Beth. "Good job." 

Melissa grinned. "Too bad none of the schools that are attending are from Spain." 

"Don't be silly," said Antigone, brushing her hair. "There's Beauxbatons." 

"They speak French," said Melissa. 

Antigone's hand stopped halfway through a stroke, gripping the brush tightly. "What?" 

"French." 

Antigone's pretty mouth dropped open. Then she hurled her brush across the room and swore loudly in Spanish. "Now I've only got two months!" she said hotly, and stormed out of the room. 

"They're kind of alike," Beth called after her, and was rewarded with another volley of curses, this time in clear and irate English. 

She and Melissa grinned at each other. "How much French d'you think she can learn by Halloween?" Beth asked, changing into her pajamas. 

"With her O.W.L.s?" Melissa snickered. "She'll be lucky just to get _'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi.'_" 

"Well, that's all she needs, isn't it?" said Beth wickedly. 

They climbed into bed and dimmed the lights until Antigone -- assuming she eventually came out of her snit -- would be able to see when she went to bed. Lying there in the comfortable dark of her canopies, Beth suddenly felt the weight of time on her shoulders. _Only two more years of this,_ she thought. _Only two more years with Mel and Bruce. Two more years of Hogwarts._ She sighed aloud, and heard Melissa rustle in the next bed. _Only two more years to laugh with Aaron -- to fight off the Weasleys -- to encourage Warrington, to put up with Antigone --_

The next thought came unbidden. 

_Only one more year with Richard._

~~~~~~~~~   
Challenge: Ten house points and a cookie to anybody who writes a joke that starts out with a troll, a hag and a leprechaun all going into a bar. Double points if it's actually funny. 


	3. The First Weeks of School

**Chapter Three: The First Boring Weeks of School**

On the first morning of the fall term, receiving their new schedules traditionally threw the Ravenclaws into throes of joy at the thought of the knowledge that lay in store for them. Slytherins were different. In general, it just made them mad. 

"I don't believe it!" said Bruce hotly. "Potions and Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors -- _again!_" 

"Get over it, Brucey," Melissa sighed, patting him on the back. "It's never going to change." 

"Tell me about it," grumbled Bruce, as he looked across the Great Hall to where the Weasley twins were making bits of bacon talk to each other. 

"We've got Arithmancy with the Hufflepuffs," Mervin told Beth. "All those hard workers'll make us look bad." 

Beth looked down at her own schedule for the first time. "D.A.D.A, Charms, and Arithmancy," she read aloud. "Alchemy III, Transfig, Care of Magical Creatures -- should have opted out of that one -- Potions, good ... hang on, what do you have Wednesday afternoon?" 

Bruce looked at his paper. "Apparator's Education. Huh, I didn't sign up for that." 

"Well, I've got Career Counseling," said Beth, "and I didn't sign up for that either. What do you have, Mel?" 

Melissa had Apparator's Education with Bruce, but Mervin was in Beth's class. Going up and down the table, they found that the sixth-years were about evenly split between the two. "I wonder what that's all about?" said Mervin. 

Beth shrugged. "Who knows. By the way, I never got to talk to you last night on the train. What've you been up to all summer?" 

To her surprise, Mervin let out a long groan. "I," he said, in a tone of ultimate suffering, "spent all summer working on the farm." 

Melissa looked at him blankly. "The ... farm?" 

"Yeah, family farm. You know -- winged horses? All summer long." He tapped his schedule. "I don't need this Career Counseling thing to know that I never want to do that ever again." 

"I thought you liked animals," said Beth. 

Mervin made a face. "I like the cute ones, not the big smelly ones." No one commented on his conviction that a tattered rat and a twelve-foot-long snake could be "cute". 

"So why'd you do it?" said Melissa, biting into a muffin. 

"It was the only way I could get my parents to cough up the money for tickets to the World Cup," said Mervin. "And then they made me go with my great uncle Mundungus, all he had by way of a tent was a cloak and some sticks. But he's told the Ministry he had this huge wonderful tent, and they'll never know the difference." 

Beth grinned even while scratching at her poison ivy. True to Madame Pomfrey's prediction, it had multiplied during the night, with gruesome results. She had the sleeve of her uniform rolled up. Bandages or no bandages, anti-itch potion or no anti-itch potion, the wool was driving her crazy. 

Professor Snape swept past just then, cold and regal in robes that somehow looked blacker than everyone else's. He cast a careless glance at the sixth-years ... then he did a double-take and paused in front of the table. 

Beth had seen Professor Snape display an astonishing range of emotions -- from irritation to anger to absolute fury -- but she had never seen him look startled. The surprise quickly faded from his face and was shielded by a carefully cool exterior. "Miss Parson ... your arm." 

"It's poison ivy," she explained. "It got into my school robes somehow." 

Snape relaxed. "I wish you a speedy recovery," he said, and swept past. 

Beth and Melissa looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Mervin let out a low whistle. "Snape's a little uptight this year, don't you think?" 

"I'll bet I can guess why," said Melissa. She gestured to the head table, where Professor Moody was bent over the table, sniffing suspiciously at a bowl of corn flakes. "Ugh, he's enough to give anyone a fright." At that very moment, Moody's large magical eye rolled in the direction of the Slytherins. Beth and her friends hastily lowered their heads and concentrated on breakfast. 

For a while they ate in a hush. Then Bruce turned to Beth and said, "So that poison ivy 'got in your robes somehow', is that it?" 

"Heh," said Beth. "It's not worth ratting on the Weasleys if we haven't got good proof it was them." 

"Snape wouldn't need proof," Bruce pointed out. The bell rang for classes and students reluctantly began to leave the table. "He'd give them a detention if you asked him. What do we have first?" 

"Transfiguration," sighed Melissa. "What a way to start the week." 

"Could be worse," said Beth. "We could have to deal with all the Gryffindors at once." 

True to tradition, the sixth-year Slytherins went to class in a pack. They commanded more respect as a group; seven brains got you a better insult than just one. It was also easier to get through the halls if you had Warrington in front of you. 

Of course, none of that stopped a really determined antagonist ... or a pair of them. 

"Looking a bit yellow, Bletchley?" came a familiar gleeful voice. 

"I wondered which one got the Squidface Powder," an identical voice chimed in. 

"Then which one of them got the Arborocephal Paste?" grinned the other Weasley, who had spoken first. 

"I think you should be more worried about which one of _you_ I'm going to kill first," growled Bruce, starting towards them with fists cocked. 

"Fighting on the first day, Bletchley?" said one of the Weasleys, not moving an inch. "You can get in trouble for that." 

"It would be worth every --" Bruce began, but a crisp voice cut in over his words. 

"Is there a problem here? Mr. Bletchley? Misters Weasley?" 

"Of course not, Professor," said one of the Weasleys gallantly. 

"Never, Professor," the other echoed. 

McGonagall cast a swift look at Bruce. 

"No," Bruce grunted reluctantly. 

"I thought as much," said Professor McGonagall starchly. "Now get along with you all. It will never do to be late for the first class of the year." 

The Gryffindors retreated and Professor McGonagall ushered the Slytherins into her classroom for Transfiguration. 

Transfiguration was no different than it had ever been. It was their second class that the Slytherins were interested in -- Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the ferocious and mysterious Mad-Eye Moody. 

Professor Moody was already in the classroom when they arrived. His ordinary eye was fixed on the doorway (the other kept looking behind him as if he expected somebody to come sneaking out from behind the blackboard) and he gave everyone a careful scrutiny as they came in. 

"Sixth-year Slytherins," he growled, even before everyone had fully seated themselves. There was a quick scramble to get ready for the lecture. "Old enough to know right from wrong, you lot." Beth exchanged a bemused glance with Melissa. "Old enough to make choices ..." He clasped his hands behind his back and strode out from behind his desk. "Old enough ... to have enemies." 

There was a dead silence. Aaron very discreetly wrote _"Loony"_ on his notebook and showed it to Warrington who, very indiscreetly, laughed. 

Immediately Professor Moody's eyes fixed on Warrington. "Haven't got any enemies, have you ..." he glanced down at the class roll. "... Warrington?" 

The smile gradually faded from Warrington's dim face. 

"Well let me tell you," said Moody, beginning to pace back and forth, "there are wizards who don't care if you're just sixteen -- they don't care if you're good looking or a Slytherin or smart or strong -- there are wizards who'll take out anything in their way. Could be _you._" 

Antigone made a noise of impatience and tossed her hair. 

Professor Moody ignored her. "There's only one way to be safe: constant, unceasing vigilance." He whirled on the class. "D'you hear that? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

There was a moment of stunned silence. 

"Very well," said Professor Moody calmly, "roll call." 

Professor Moody took the roll quickly. At nearly every name he would give a "Hmph," or "Of course," or fix the student in question with a piercing glare. At Mervin's name he looked up and said, "I know your great-uncle. Good man." 

"He's a nutter," said Mervin, without a hint of embarrassment. 

"That he is," Moody agreed, and went back to calling out Melissa's name. (He barely reacted to the fact that she was an Ollivander, which put her in something of a huff for the rest of the day.) Finally he put down the list of names, clapped his hands together, and said, "Curses. You've had a bit of grounding so far, haven't you?" 

Some of them nodded. 

"Then let's go deeper," said Moody. "Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law? The Unforgivable curses?" 

To Beth's left, Antigone tensed very slightly. They hadn't been taught the Unforgivable curses yet. But which one of them hadn't teased about Avada-Kedavering the Weasley twins, or threatened to Cruciatus one of their classmates? No, discretion was the name of the game when it came to the Dark Arts. Professor Moody was faced with a sea of unraised hands. 

"Anyone? The Forbidden Curses?" 

No one moved. 

Moody's good eye narrowed and he gazed around at them. "Don't tell me you lot don't know the Forbidden Curses," he said quietly. There was silence. "No? Bunch of innocents, are you?" Beth hazarded a glance at Bruce, who was making a very obvious effort to hold his tongue. 

Moody looked down at his class list. "Pucey!" he barked. Aaron jumped. "What would you do, Pucey, if I told you I was going to use the Cruciatus curse on you?" 

"Tell my father and have you fired," Aaron said promptly. 

To everyone's great surprise, Professor Moody threw back his head and laughed. "I'd expect no less!" he roared. "Slytherin, indeed." 

He looked down at the class rolls and stroked his grizzled chin. "Remus Lupin left me a note about you lot. Seems you didn't take well to the boggart he brought into class. Well, can't say that I blame you ... All right, I'll play your game if you play mine. Everyone get yer quills ready. The first, though hardly the kindest, of the Unforgivables is the Imperius Curse ..." 

They took a few notes before Moody took out a jar of spiders and demonstrated each of the Unforgivable Curses on them. (The spiders, not the students.) The Slytherins were completely silent throughout the demonstration. Even confidentially, nobody admitted to ever having seen one of the Unforgivable curses actually performed; and while everyone did an admirable job of keeping a straight face while watching the spiders, Beth was pretty sure that few of them had. When Moody sent them packing with a pile of homework, they all managed to avoid chattering to one another about what they had seen. Beth was almost out the door when she heard Moody's voice behind her. 

"Parson!" 

Beth turned toward him uncertainly. "Yes?" 

"What's that on your arm?" 

"It's bandages, sir," she said, making a sincere effort not to sound sarcastic or patronizing. 

Moody curled his lip. "All right, Parson, very cute. What's _under_ the bandages?" 

"Poison ivy." She scratched at her forearm to prove it. 

"Hmm." Moody's good eye gave her a very suspicious look while his magical one whisked over her bandages. Annoyed, Beth stood and fidgeted until he nodded brusquely. "All right then, go on." 

"Thank you," said Beth, although she didn't really think she should be thanking someone for letting her do what she was perfectly entitled to. She hurried and caught up with her classmates outside of the Career Counseling classroom. Some of the students from other houses had already arrived. The Ravenclaws already had their quills out and ready. 

"That Moody, he's all right," said Aaron, as they hijacked a cluster of seats in the back. 

"I guess," said Beth. She didn't think much of someone who would question an injury, of all things. 

"He arrested my great-uncle Mundungus," said Mervin. "Twice. Turns out they were both secretly on the same side. My uncle got him back though. Sent him a carriage clock shaped like a basilisk egg. Nice, evil way to scare him to death." 

"He arrested four of my cousins, too," said Aaron blithely. "Death Eaters, the lot of them. Mum still goes to see them sometimes -- not that it helps, they're all stark mad and all, but she likes to keep up on family." 

Mervin laughed. Beth was silent. 

Just then the door banged shut and the sound of crisp footsteps clattered sharply across the stone floor. Everyone turned to the front of the room. Madame Pince, the lean and imperious librarian, slammed a pile of parchments onto the front desk and stood there with her arms crossed. Everyone hastily took their seats. 

"For those of you who find research and study a waste of time, I am Madam Pince, your librarian here at Hogwarts." The Ravenclaws all looked rather smug at already knowing her name. "It is the wish of Headmaster Dumbledore that you grow into productive, respectable citizens; therefore, I am called away from my efforts in the library to advise you concerning your futures." She did not appear to be thrilled with the arrangement. 

"I am going to warn you now. Most of you will not grow up to be Quidditch players, professional musicians or clothing models. You will probably also not be the Minister of Magic or a famous giant killer. And while there are many excellent careers to be had in the broomstick industry, daredevil stunt-flying high-speed tester is not one of them." 

"There go _my_ life plans," said one of the Weasleys. 

His classmates laughed and Madame Pince fixed him with a blistering glare. "Then you are in the right place, Mr. Weasley," she said crisply, "for you will shortly be directed in a whole new career path." She produced a stack of scrolls and sent them flying out among the students, who snagged them out of the air as they whizzed past. "This is a brief quiz to help you determine your strengths, skills and interests. Your answers will guide you to a career for which you are well suited. Begin." She remained standing, cold and vulturelike behind the desk. 

Beth unrolled her form and looked over the questions. She had never seen a more boring questionnaire in her life, including that History of Magic test in third year when they had to match the goblin rebels to the year they had revolted. Well, there was only one thing to do: grit her teeth and get to work. She pulled out her quill. 

Half an hour later, she filled out the last answer. The results, it seemed, were instantaneous: each time she answered another question, the paper would subtly change color. Her classmates now held parchments of a vast variety of hues. Beth's own test had veered towards a dark blue; beside her, Mervin's was pale orange and clashed badly with his hair. She amused herself by trying to guess what her classmates' colors meant until Madame Pince (who had not seated herself throughout the entire class) pulled a chart down from the ceiling and said crisply, "I trust you have all finished. Now pay attention." 

The Weasleys exchanged raised eyebrows. Madame Pince took up her wand and began to point out the various colors on the chart. Each one, it seemed, represented a career area; you could get more specific direction by looking at the shade. 

"Administration," said Madame Pince, tapping the red area of the chart. "Communication. Sales. Manufacturing. Research." She pointed out a different color for each word. "Teaching. Philosophy." 

Aaron raised his hand. 

"Mr. Pucey." 

Aaron pointed at the chart. "Madam Pince," he said, face a mask of innocent confusion, "there's no Death Eater on there." 

There was a mixture of muffled giggles and horrified gasps. Mervin guffawed and gave Aaron a high-five. Madam Pince remained completely unruffled. 

"I think that you will find, Mr. Pucey, that the role of Death Eater rarely serves as a primary career. It is more often pursued as a sideline or hobby. _Pay attention,_" she finished, in her coldest, most severe tone. Aaron, cowed, hunched over his paper. The Weasleys sniggered identically. 

Interpreting the results of their career tests were at least vaguely interesting. Beth discovered that she was destined to be either a teacher, a wizard accountant, or a researcher, unless she became a professional singer, secretary, or nun. Mervin's top job area was in law enforcement, to his horror, and Aaron was directed into sales, to his disgust. The Weasely twins were clearly delighted with being sent into sales and manufacture; interestingly, they had come up with different shades of the same color. Madame Pince spent a little time describing each area and sent them on their way with plenty of homework to do concerning their specified career areas. 

She caught Beth as the rest of the students filed out the door. 

"Miss Parson," she said, indicating Beth's arm, "you've had an accident over the summer, have you?" 

"It's poison ivy," Beth said, sick to death of being asked about it, "and it wasn't an accident, the Weasley twins stuffed it down my school robes on the train!" 

"I see." Madame Pince's lips puckered severely. "Have you considered retribution?" 

"I can't come up with anything bad enough," Beth sighed. 

Madame Pince began collecting her things from the top of her desk. "I could fail them." 

"You'd do that?" 

"After what they did to the school copy of _The Beater's Bible_? Miss Parson, they are lucky to be alive." 

Beth grinned. "I think maybe I'd better wreak my own vengeance. Thanks, though." 

"Very well." Madame Pince picked up her things. "Oh yes -- Madame Pomfrey tells me that one of the third-year Slytherins is in the hospital wing with a sudden case of lockjaw. You'll want to keep an eye on him so that he doesn't completely disable himself before his induction." 

"Oh -- the curse, right," Beth laughed. "Nobody's come down with that since Melissa. I'll warn the others. Thanks!" 

She hurried off to Alchemy. 

Beth slipped inside just as Professor Vector was handing around the new textbooks. Professor Snape was in a front corner of the room with his arms crossed; he arched an eyebrow only slightly as Beth, red-faced, slid into a seat just as the chime was sounding for class to begin. She accepted her textbook from Professor Vector and hastily got out her notebook. 

"Welcome back, middears," said Professor Vector warmly, her Scottish brogue as quirky and endearing as ever. "Faith, 'tis an excellent plan we have for ye this year. Professor Snape, if ye'd do the honors." 

Professor Snape swept to the front of the room, dousing Vector's cheeriness in the chill that always seemed to radiate from his person. "This year you will be responsible for completing a project of no small complexity," he said, soft voice low and cold. "You have now been immersed in this subject for two full years. The time has come to test what you claim to have learned." 

_Oh help,_ thought Beth. She could barely remember last year's curriculum. 

"On your way out you will collect a piece of paper which describes the requirements for this final project. Let me summarize them now. They include: Conception of an idea and thorough research therein; potion which has been perceptibly altered from its original form; and a completed report about your alterations." 

The freckled Hufflepuff, Stebbins, raised his hand dubiously. "How long --" 

"Fifty feet, Mr. Stebbins, and filler material will not be tolerated." 

The Alchemy students exchanged horrified looks. 

"Very well. Consider yourselves warned." Professor Snape retreated and allowed Professor Vector to take the floor, who beamed round at them all effusively. 

"We're very excited to see what projects ye choose," said Professor Vector enthusiastically. "Won't it be fun?" 

The students, open-mouthed, could not reply. 

***

Before Beth had fully adjusted to the new school year -- with the ferocious new D.A.D.A. professor who turned Draco into a ferret on the very first day, class with Madame Pince, the Alchemy project, and some horrifying new creatures of Hagrid's called Blast-Ended Skrewts -- it was Thursday night, with something comfortably familiar: the first Society for Slytherin Advancement meeting of the year. 

Most of the other members had crept out at around ten thirty that evening. Beth, as secretary, stayed behind in the common room. She would be helping to escort the new members to the Vase Room for the first time. 

She was thumbing listlessly through her new Alchemy book and thinking in very vague terms about the project ahead. It didn't seem like a horrible lot of work -- surely if she focused, and worked on it a little every day, it would be possible -- 

She snorted to herself. "Give me a break, Parson, you've never been that disciplined in your life," she said aloud, tossing the book aside. 

"What's that again?" came a cheery voice from behind her. Richard Shaw came and plunked down in the armchair beside her. 

"Just griping about my Alchemy project," Beth said. "It's going to be a beast." 

"Oh -- yes, of course, my classmate Cassius has that. Has it in mind to develop an antidote to Veritaserum. Strange fellow, Cassius." 

"At least he's started thinking about it," said Beth. "I don't know what I'm going to do." 

Richard arched an eyebrow. "You could always just turn in your modifications to Polyjuice Potion." 

"And get blamed for that missing boomslang skin?" Beth grinned back. "I'd rather fail." 

Richard laughed. "You'll come up with something. Oh, I say -- I never did get to ask how your brother was getting along." 

His spoke in a completely normal tone. Beth was grateful; so often the subject of her ex-convict brother was approached either too delicately or too boisterously, leaving everybody feeling awkward. It was a relief to treat it like an ordinary subject. Still, she hesitated before she spoke. 

"He's doing his best," she said at last. "He's been so nice to me -- it's so good to finally meet him ..." She blushed pink. "He's trying hard to adjust ... he has a Muggle job and all, at a gas station down the road." She smiled. "I spent half of June teaching him to ride a bike, just so he could get there every day. He's doing all right." She didn't mention the nights when he would wake them both up with a garbled scream as he fought out of a nightmare. 

"I'm glad to hear that," said Richard. He settled down into his chair. "I haven't any brothers or sisters, and I haven't the foggiest idea what it would be like to have one ..." For a moment he sounded a bit wistful. Then he turned to Beth and smiled, with eyes that she suddenly noticed were pleasantly brown. "Well, life falls as it may. Least I've got the Society." 

"Definitely," said Beth. 

"They're an interesting pair this year," said Richard mentioned, indicating the two students across the room. "Oren and Audra. An ... unusual couple of students." 

Beth turned around in her chair to catch a glimpse of the third-years. 

The S.S.A. couldn't have chosen two more opposite inductees if they had tried. The boy was tall and dark-skinned, with tight black curls and bright, clever eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses. He was slaving over a first-level Arithmancy book, and obviously enjoying it. The girl sat beside him, placidly reading. She was tiny, and so fair that her hair shone white. Her blue eyes were lazy beneath their lids. The merest trace of a cat's smile touched her lips. 

"Interesting," Beth agreed. She yawned hugely. "How much longer do we have to wait?" 

Richard checked his wristwatch. "Fifteen minutes. Go on, I'll wake you up when it's time." 

"No ..." Beth sat up a little straighter. "I can wait it out." 

They chatted about work and school until the clock struck eleven-thirty; then they dragged the two third-years away from their books and guided them through the dark hallways to the Vase Room. (Richard wouldn't tell them where they were going; he loved being cryptic. The boy was so excited that he didn't seem to care. The girl didn't register an opinion either way.) 

They made good time, and before long Richard had exclaimed, "Ouch! My toe!" and the door to the Vase Room appeared in the blank wall and swung open. 

The other members had apparently finished their business and were now sitting around making idle conversation in different pockets of the room. Herne Rudisille hovered awkwardly near a vase where Evan Wilkes stood with his hands in his pockets. Beth passed in time to hear Herne say: 

"You've got to stop it, Evan. He was seriously mad." 

"Good," said Evan coldly. 

"Look, it hurts all of us ..." Herne caught sight of the newcomers and trailed off. "Just think about what I've said?" 

Evan did not answer. 

The Vase Room looked the same as it always did: opulent with wall-to-wall vases and cauldrons in every shape and size. A second Special Award for Services to the School had been added to the shelf. Both of them were rewards from Dumbledore after the S.S.A. had saved the lives of Harry Potter and one or more or his companions. The headquarters was like a second home to Beth; she went straight to her stool behind the Ledger, while the inductees took in the gorgeous furnishings for the first time. 

Bruce leaned over to Melissa and hissed, "Do they always look that young?" 

"It's just that we're so old," Melissa murmured back. 

That may have been partly true, but Beth thought that these two were especially youthful. While the boy seemed to be an ordinarily chipper thirteen, the white-haired girl looked scarcely older than ten. Her wise eyes were strange in her calm, childish face; they made her seem ageless. 

Beth entered their names carefully into the Ledger while Richard gave the standard speech: they were joining a secret Slytherin organization created to further the house by solving the mysteries of Hogwarts castle and helping its members in their quests for personal greatness; there had been 127 inductees over the past fifty-four years; the rings, which Melissa slid onto their fingers, could only be seen by someone else wearing a Society ring, and would allow them to identify other members at any time. Beth noticed that he left out that the Society had been founded by a certain Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort, and also the fact that of all the inductees, about fifty of them were either dead or in Azkaban. Of those remaining, at least two -- Randall Riggs and Ebenezer Nott -- were known Voldemort supporters. The Society had done a lot of good in its lifetime, Beth thought with a sigh, but it had done a lot of damage as well. 

With the inductions finished, the actual meeting began. Richard stood at the front of the room for several long moments, looking out at each of them in turn. Finally he leaned over the podium towards them, gripping the sides with his hands. 

"Well, chaps," he said, "this is my last year to win back the House Cup." 

There was a hint of desperation in his tone. 

"Slytherin hasn't lost the Cup for four years running for some three decades now," he went on, "and I don't intend to break that record. We're getting it back if it kills us. Here's who's going to help us do it." He gestured towards the third-years, who exchanged glances. "Oren Bergeron and Audra Verona. Oren's sharp at building things. Not just magical things, either." Oren flushed even darker. "Audra notices things, and she's all Slytherin. In fact we, er, had to induct her, because she realized that the same few of us were staying up late every Thursday." Richard didn't look upset; in fact, he was grinning in delight. Beth knew that Audra was exactly the sort of person that he wanted in the club -- anyone who was bright enough to solve the secrets of the S.S.A. could be counted on to puzzle out other mysteries as well. 

Audra smiled faintly. Half-turned, she looked like a white-haired Mona Lisa. Evan Wilkes looked at her sharply from under his dark bangs and quickly looked away. 

"Any old business?" 

Melissa raised her hand excitedly and Richard nodded at her. "I've had a letter from Vivian Sicklewise," she said. "She and Daedalus got engaged over the summer!" 

"Excellent!" said Richard delightedly. "Are we invited to the wedding, then?" 

"Yes, it's next August in Gloucester," said Melissa. "She's sending out invitations and Portkeys in the spring. It'll be beautiful, won't it?" She heaved the kind of sigh that she only managed when her boyfriend Galen was on her mind. 

"Vivian and Daedalus graduated two years ago," Richard explained, for those who hadn't met them. "Both S.S.A. members. Dell's an Animagus, too, but he's unregistered, so don't let on that you know." 

Oren smiled and laid a finger to the side of his nose. Audra looked entirely unsurprised by the information, only keeping her eerily cool gaze on Richard. 

"Anything else?" Richard looked around the room. "I saw the alumni president, Mr. Jules Rothbard, at the World Cup." He looked extremely proud of this. "He'll be keeping up with us throughout the year ... might even show up at the Tournament. 

"That brings us to the new business then. We're entering that tournament, chaps. I don't know how, when or where, but we'll be there, every one of us. Age restrictions should be no challenge for a dozen bright Slytherins. Gloria serpens!" 

Oren grinned. Beth realized that it was the first time that he had heard the S.S.A. motto. It certainly wouldn't be the last, she thought. Richard ate, slept and breathed those words. Audra registered no reaction. 

"Somebody's got to be prefect next year," Richard went on. "I can't tell you how hard it is to make it to these meetings if the prefect's not a member. Fourth, fifth and sixth years ought to start getting in with Snape right now." 

Melissa nodded resolutely, a faint hint of desperation in her eyes. 

"Let's see then ..." Richard went on. "Dumbledore didn't give one of his weird cryptic speeches this year ..." Blaise muffled a snicker. "We're not going to lose the house cup thanks to Potter's Quidditch skills, like we did last year ..." Bruce let out a whimper. "No criminals, monsters or unicorn-killers so far ..." He rubbed his hands together cheerfully. "I'd say we're in for a pretty good year! If there's no further business, the meeting is adjourned." 

One by one, the members stood, stretched, and made their way out of the Vase Room. On the way out the door, Oren made his way up to Richard. "I wanted to thank you for choosing me." 

Richard looked pleased and surprised. "Of course, old sport. You earned it -- we're glad you're here." 

Oren blushed slightly and shrugged. "I appreciate it. Oh, and thanks for the curse, by the way," he added, a wry grin on his face. 

"Mervin did that," said Richard proudly. "Comes standard with the notes. We've been using it for our whole history." He winked. "Mervin wanted to change it to something nastier but I talked him out of it." 

Mervin crossed his arms. "Spoilsport." 

They crept through the darkened hallways as a group, keeping a close ear out for Mrs. Norris or Argus Filch. Oren in particular seemed to be enjoying the espionage tremendously. Audra never made a sound; she glided as silent and pale as a ghost alongside the others. They gathered around the door of the common room and waited until Richard whispered "Empyreon" -- then they all crowded inside the common room, whispering cheerfully. 

A young, imperious voice broke over them. 

"Hey!" 

It was the freckle-faced first-year with curly black hair, standing in the middle of the floor in his dressing gown. He had his hands on his hips. 

"Malcolm!" said Richard, sounding more surprised than anything. "What are you doing up?" 

"I want you to get me a glass of water," said the first-year, tilting his chin up. "What are you doing outside? Are you sneaking out? You'd better do what I say, or I'll tell on all of you and get you all in trouble." 

Richard sighed and nodded his head towards Mervin. "Mervin, if you please." 

Mervin nodded back. As quick as lightning, he swept out his wand and cried, _"Obliviate!"_

The first-year's eyes came unfocused and for one brief moment the imperious look fell from his face. Instantly, Richard was at his side, guiding him back to the dormitories, saying, "Malcolm, you've been sleepwalking ... good thing I found you, you could've been hurt ... we'll have to lock the door next time ..." 

The boy's confused voice came floating back to the common room. "I wasn't ..." 

"Of course you were, old chap. Nothing to be ashamed of. Good night then!" There was the sound of a door slamming and a key turning in its lock. 

Beth and Melissa grinned at each other as they headed down the corridor to their own bedroom. "First meeting, and we're already cursing people," Beth whispered, as they hastily changed into pajamas and climbed into bed. 

"Of course," Melissa whispered back cheerfully. "Gloria serpens!" 

Beth laughed. "Sounds like you've got Richard on the brain." 

Melissa raised her eyebrows and a smile played across her lips. "I wouldn't be the only one, would I?" 

She closed the drapes on her bed. Beth spent half a minute blushing furiously before she closed her own. 


	4. Plot Happens

**Chapter Four: Plot Happens**

The school year started out just the same as it always had: with old friends, a new D.A.D.A. professor, a handful of firsties, and the same old inter-house rivalries. 

There was something else, though; something Beth only noticed several weeks into the school year. Sometimes in the library, at meals or between classes, she would catch snatches of conversation between other houses. The riots at the World Cup would be mentioned -- the Dark Mark in the sky -- the crowd of Death Eaters, the Muggles they had captured, the damage they had done, the fear they had caused. Beth had read all about it in an (admittedly sensationalized) article in the Daily Prophet; none of this was news. But she realized that none of her classmates had ever spoken of it. No speculation in the common room ... no reminiscences, even though many of them had surely been there ... nothing. The whole of Slytherin house, for any number of reasons, was pretending that it had never happened. 

For that matter, Beth's family hadn't spoken of it either. All of them had read the article, and Lycaeon had gone deathly pale at the first sight of the huge skull glinting up from its photograph on the front page, but there had been no conversation ... no acknowledgement. She thought of asking Melissa or Bruce about what they had seen, but she was Slytherin enough to recognize a purposeful silence when she saw it, and didn't break the unspoken rule. 

So instead of worrying about Death Eaters on the prowl and classmates who seemed more secretive than usual, Beth concentrated on the comparatively easy things. Her Alchemy project, for one. She was still going through ideas like the Weasleys in Zonko's. It was such an important grade that she couldn't risk choosing the wrong subject, and yet the longer she waited, the less time she had to actually work on it. 

Richard came up in her thoughts a lot too. He had been nothing but friendly towards her since school started ... which was nice, she admitted, but she had hoped for something more. Maybe if she just kept waiting ...? 

Of course, she spent a lot of time worrying over her poison ivy, which had flared up in early October and was now down to a rough crust all the way from the base of her thumb to her elbow. She had even had it in between her fingers for one miserable week; after that, Madame Pomfrey had resorted to a stronger itching potion and dire threats concerning what would happen if she laid hands on it again. 

In general, though, there was nothing new under the sun -- nothing that hadn't been happening at Hogwarts for the past thousand years. So it was no surprise that on the day before Halloween, when two sets of foreign visitors were due to arrive, the school rose to the occasion in fine style. 

That evening, just as a dim and shady dusk was settling over the grounds, Professor Snape herded his flock upstairs into the Entrance Hall and lined them up by year. It was easier said than done. The firsties, who wouldn't follow an order if their lives depended on it, kept trying to creep off into the wrong row. The older students were quite distracted by the other houses lining up around them. The seventh-year boys nearly came to blows over who got to stand behind Antigone von Dervish, while Antigone, oblivious to them, laboriously read out of a slender dictionary. 

"Je embrasse ... tu embrasses ... il embrasse ..." 

"They're going to be here any moment," said Melissa derisively, to Antigone's left. 

"Then there's still time," said Antigone acidly, and went on with her conjugations. 

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

Beth let out a shriek and jumped a foot in the air. She landed and whirled around in time to see Aaron Pucey collapse to the floor laughing. 

_"Why -- you -- little --"_

Beth threw herself on top of Aaron and started beating on his chest with both fists. That only made him laugh harder and try to fight her off by tickling her -- a hard thing to defend yourself from -- and soon they were both crying with laughter, faces flushed, hair in disarray. 

Snape's cold voice broke over them. "Mr. Pucey. Miss Parson. I wonder if you would be so kind as to join us." 

They scrambled to their feet and took their places among the other sixth-years. Melissa gave them a disapproving look. Beth waited until Professor Snape had turned away before trying to put her bushy hair back in order (a lost cause in any circumstances). 

Everyone had been arranged by then; the other three houses were similarly lined up and making their way outside, into the cool October night. 

"I beg you not to humiliate yourselves," Professor Snape murmured, pacing back and forth before them as if he were a brooding general. "We are, after all, the elite of the school, the best Hogwarts has to offer ... and every student at Durmstrang will be sure to know it." 

"They will once they've met us, sir," said Draco proudly, standing a bit straighter. 

"They had better," said Snape coldly, and with a jerk of his head he turned and led his students through the Entrance Hall, out the door, and down the great stone steps to the front of the castle. 

It was nearly dark outside; the students stood in ranks under the light of a pale moon. From here, they had a wonderful view of the Hogwarts grounds, from the lake, vast and dark, to the Forbidden Forest, so dense that it seemed to be made not of thousands of trees but one enormous, ancient plant. Far away, Beth thought she could even make out the glimmer of lights in Hogsmeade Village. An unexpected longing leapt up and clenched her heart. She hadn't realized how beautiful Hogwarts was, how much she loved it ... and how much she would miss it. _Two more years,_ she thought again. 

"Portkey, I'm thinking," said Aaron from a few spaces away, and Beth realized with a start that her classmates had been conversing around her. "They're each bringing a good dozen, how else would you do it so easily?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," Melissa snorted, at Beth's right. "Portkeys are so vulgar and common. Any school as grand as these two can surely come up with something more elegant." 

"Quite right," said Antigone von Dervish. "If _I_ were making an entrance before such an audience, I'd come in on a white winged horse, with ivy garlands and a silver tiara ..." 

"If you were making an entrance, everyone'd turn and run," Aaron grinned, at the same time that Mervin grumbled, "_Please,_ I don't want to _think_ about winged horses again until July." 

Antigone, unable to glare at both of them at the same time, contented herself with tossing her hair and staring icily out at the grounds. 

"Aha!" 

It was Dumbledore, voice booming from the back row of teachers. Many students swiveled their heads to look at him. 

"Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!" 

"Where?" several students cried at once. 

Bruce, looking skyward, shot out an arm and pointed over the Forbidden Forest. _"There!"_

Every head turned to where he pointed. Over the tops of the trees, something was growing ever larger as it rocketed toward them, a round spot in the violet sky that was now the size of a grape, now a pumpkin, now very near the size of a house -- 

"It's a dragon!" one of the first-years shrieked, inspiring general panic among her peers. 

"Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!" yelled another first-year. 

For several moments it was impossible to tell which of them, if either, was right. Then, as it came into the lights of Hogwarts, the massive object was revealed to be a carriage -- if carriages are towed by huge winged horses and get to be as big as the common room. It was round and luminous, pale blue and trimmed with gold. 

Mervin let out a loud groan. "_Not winged horses._ I thought I was done with those 'til the summer--" 

Anything else he might have said was obscured in the earth-shaking crash that the coach made in its landing. Two rows ahead, Longbottom leapt about a foot in the air and came down on Evan Wilkes's foot, who spat, "Get off it, Squib!" and shoved him back into rank. 

"Hush, Evan," Melissa whispered impatiently. "They're getting out!" 

A boy in robes that matched the carriage had leaped out and released a set of steps, and now stood like a sentinel at the door of the carriage. Every eye watched the opening, waiting for someone to come out. 

Someone did ... quite a lot of someone, in fact. The woman that emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage was handsome, black-haired and bedecked with opals, and was roughly the size of a baby whale. There were gasps from the crowd. 

"Good heavens, are they all that big?" Mervin murmured. 

"I thought it was Beauxbatons, not Brobdingnag," Bruce murmured back. 

Luckily, just then Dumbledore began to clap, and soon the whole school had joined into the applause -- which conveniently hid Aaron's uncontrollable sniggering. The large woman approached Headmaster Dumbledore and graciously accepted a kiss on the hand. "My dear Madame Maxime. Welcome to Hogwarts." 

"Will she fit?" choked Aaron, and ducked his head under a fit of muffled laughter. 

Madame Maxime's voice was resonant. "Dumbly-dorr," she said fondly, "I 'ope I find you well?" 

Several more boys and girls were emerging from the carriage, all dressed alike in powder-blue robes that shimmered under the starlight. They huddled together behind Madame Maxime, barely moving when their headmistress waved a careless hand in their direction. None of them seemed especially impressed with the castle; in fact, some of them looked downright afraid of it. 

The formidable headmistress ordered her students forward, and the lot of them passed through the Hogwarts crowd, up the steps, and into the Entrance Hall. Warrington craned his neck to see if she would get stuck on the way in the door, but she made it through without much more than a graceful ducking of the head. 

"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" one of the Gryffindor fourth-years wondered aloud. 

"They don't get any bigger than that," Mervin said, eyeing the massive beasts. 

For long moments the Hogwarts students were once again alone in the quiet night, and again Beth's mind started to wander. She let her eyes roam over the Hogwarts grounds -- the vast majestic lawns, the shimmering lake, the Quidditch pitch off in the distance, the ring of ancient trees that made up the Forbidden Forest. Beth paused to gaze into its dark bowers. She had seen a centaur once in that forest, she remembered ... and been chased by a werewolf, too, and riddled by a Sphinx, and carried by a huge tawny griffin. There were secrets in there she'd never dreamed of. _I wonder if I'll ever see any of it again?_

A rumbling noise, low and looming, burst into her thoughts, and she snapped back to attention. Excitement once more rippled through the students, as many of them craned their necks in expectation. 

"The lake!" cried Lee Jordon, standing as usual with the Weasleys. "Look at the lake!" 

Beth and the rest of the students all obeyed. For a moment, all they saw was the clear surface of the lake, shining like obsidian in the dark. Then the noise grew louder ... water began to slosh the banks and burble up in the center, as if a pair of mighty krakens were warring to the death ... and a vast whirlpool appeared in the lake. 

Melissa gripped Beth's arm. "Is it them?" 

"No, maybe it's the Ballycastle Bats," said Bruce sarcastically. 

"Shut _up,"_ said Melissa over her shoulder. 

"Yeah, they always enter the pitch like that," Aaron elaborated, clearly delighted with the idea. "They'll all be swooping out of it on their broomsticks next, with Barney the Fruit Bat waving a lot of black and scarlet banners --" 

"Shut up," said Melissa again. "You two think you're so clever --" 

There was a gasp from the crowd and Melissa broke off. Something was coming out of the whirlpool ... it wasn't Ballycastle, or even any Quidditch team at all, but a long black pole, swathed with ropes and brass, eerie sheets of ghostly cloth streaming out for sails. 

"A ship --" said Warrington, mouth open in wonder. 

It _was_ a ship, a weird and misty galleon silhouetted against the dark sky. It rose monstrously from the depths of the lake and sailed toward the bank. An anchor was dropped and a plank laid down to the bank, and the delegation from Durmstrang began to file onto the Hogwarts grounds. 

The man in front, a slender fellow with shimmering gray robes, began speaking even before his students had reached the steps of the castle. "Dumbledore!" he called out, with a cheer that fell just short of sincerity. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?" 

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," said Dumbledore, reaching out to shake the headmaster's hands while his students collected uncertainly behind him. 

"Ugh, I remember those fur cloaks," said Melissa under her breath. "Beastly." 

"But warm," Beth replied in a whisper. 

Professor Karkaroff was now looking up at the castle and rhapsodizing about how good it was to be back. One of his students was looking around expectantly at the Hogwarts students -- her face lit up as she saw the Slytherins, and Beth recognized Gypsy Arendt, a former S.S.A. member who had transferred to Durmstrang over three years ago. She waved, and Beth could hear the seventh-years behind her jostling to see her. 

"My God -- is that Gypsy?" 

"-- haven't seen her since, what, third year?" 

"Ooh, I wonder if her teacher will let her stay in our dorms while she's here!" 

Professor Karkaroff's voice grew a bit louder. "You don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold ..." He gestured to one of the students, who ducked his head and came into the light beside Karkaroff. There was a moment of complete silence; then the entire Hogwarts delegation exploded in muffled whispers and hissing. 

_"Did you see --"_

_"Is that --"_

Warrington grabbed hold of Bruce's arm and started to shake it urgently. "That's him!" he boomed, unable to keep his powerful voice in check. "That's Viktor Krum!" 

Aaron Pucey seemed beyond words. He kept opening and closing his mouth, eyes bugging out as he watched Krum and the rest of the Durmstrang delegation enter the castle. 

"Tell you what," said Melissa, giving them each a little shove in the back, "let's gape at him when we're inside, all right? The line is moving -- and it's freezing out here!" 

Aaron nodded dumbly. They joined the rest of the Hogwarts students filing into the Entrance Hall and the Great Hall, where they broke into houses and took their usual places at the table. The Beauxbatons delegation had taken seats with the Ravenclaws, and one foreign girl was already chatting merrily with her Hogwarts counterpart; Beth assumed they had known each other from somewhere before. The Durmstrang lot hung about uncertainly in the doorway of the Great Hall. Professor Karkaroff, it seemed, had given them no indication on where they should sit. 

As Beth watched, Richard approached and made a slight bow to the Durmstrang students, gesturing toward the Slytherin table. Gypsy threw her arms around him, beaming. She let go of him and grabbed Viktor Krum's arm and started to drag him toward the Slytherin table, chattering to both. 

"Come on!" Bruce hissed, shoving Melissa so hard that she nearly fell off the bench. "Make a space for him!" 

"Make your own space, Bletchley," Melissa snapped. 

Neither of them ended up having to move; the dozen Durmstrang students filled in most of the spaces at their end of the table, where most of the older students sat. To everyone's disappointment, Viktor Krum sat in the midst of his classmates, at least three spaces away from the nearest Slytherin. 

That didn't stop Draco Malfoy. He leaned over toward Krum, who was examining the golden goblets with the boy next to him. "Well done at the World Cup," Draco said winningly, once he had caught Viktor's attention. "I was watching from the top box. Too bad the rest of your team wasn't up to par." 

"My team vos excellent," said Krum shortly, and turned back to the boy beside him. 

Draco reddened and looked down at his plate, hastily covering up his anger at such a curt dismissal. He took a breath and tried again. 

"I hope you don't mind my asking," he said, "but where will you fellows be sleeping? I'd like to offer you room in our dormitories ... I'm sure the house elves would be able to make up a dozen or so extra beds ..." 

The other boy looked tempted, but Krum said, "Ve'll be staying on t'e ship, t'ank you," and fell silent again. 

"Well, I had to extend the offer," Draco said, managing a gracious laugh, and then he fell silent too, with a dirty look at Crabbe and Goyle who were sniggering beside him. Luckily for Draco, Professor Dumbledore chose just then to rise from his seat to make an announcement. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and -- most particularly -- guests," Dumbledore beamed. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable." 

One of the Beauxbatons girls let out a snort; by the way she was clutching her thin robes around her, it was clear that she couldn't imagine being comfortable in the castle. 

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!" 

Cheers and excited babble rose up as scrumptious fare appeared along the lengths of each table. Most of the students started in with gusto, but a few -- the boys in general, and the Quidditch players in particular -- waited to see what Viktor Krum would take. 

The hook-nosed boy scowled around at the feast and finally served himself some scalloped potatoes, which quickly became the most popular item on the table. (Beth noticed a couple of Hufflepuffs at the next table covertly copying as well.) He moved on to a foreign-looking sausage stew and began doling out into his bowl. 

"Come on, Viktor, stop taking all t'e borscht," one of the Durmstrang boys said, poking Viktor Krum in the ribs playfully. 

"Right, just because you caught t'e Snitch at t'e Vorld Cup ..." another one added. 

Krum grinned bashfully. It totally transformed his sulky face; Beth could tell that he enjoyed the gentle ribbing. "You do not even like borscht," he told the boy who had poked him. "Und hiding from all t'ose interviewers made me hungry." 

"Vot about me?" the first boy said indignantly. "Selflessly distracting t'em vhile you made a get-avay." 

Gypsy leaned over. "Josef," she said, "it took about a minute before they realized you weren't Viktor Krum." 

"I don't see vhy," Josef said, putting on the air of a pout. "I even slouched." 

Even Krum joined in the laughter. In that moment, there was nothing remarkable about him -- the world-class Seeker was gone, leaving nothing but an eighteen-year-old boy sharing a joke with his friends. 

While the Durmstrang students were making fun of each other, the Slytherin boys were deeply involved with making fun of the Beauxbatons delegation. 

"Don't eat so much, Bruce, you'll end up looking like Madame Maximum," grinned Aaron. 

Mervin snorted back laughter so hard that pumpkin juice came out his nose. 

Bruce made a derisive noise that sounded exactly like the one the silver-haired Beauxbatons girl had made just a few minutes ago. "Zees Slytherins, zey are disgusting!" he warbled in a high-pitched voice, while Mervin tried vainly to mop off the front of his shirt and Warrington shook with laughter. "I 'ave nevair seen such 'orrible 'abits! _Il dégoûte!"_ He flapped a napkin at Mervin and batted his eyes. Beth could tell that they were all going to require a lot of sharp whacks upside the head before the year was out. 

"Could ve haff t'e cabbage?" 

Beth picked up the dish and handed it down the table to the tousle-headed boy in Durmstrang robes who claimed to have impersonated Viktor Krum for the reporters. He took the bowl and studied her carefully for several moments; then he erupted into an effervescent smile. "I haff met you before!" 

His messy blonde hair and cocky, endearing smile were suddenly familiar. 

"Oh ... um," said Beth, with a glance at Richard. "I can't think of when." 

The boy snapped his fingers. "Of course! You vere vone of t'e students to see Professor Viridian." Some of the other Durmstrang students nodded. "I am Josef Poliakoff. I asked you to dinner." 

"I turned you down," Beth smiled. 

"Yet here ve are!" Josef said, spreading his arms to indicate the meal before them. "You changed your mind, yes?" 

"Er," said Beth, and flushed pink. The Durmstrangers laughed. 

Richard was looking apprehensive. "They really shouldn't know that we visited last year," he murmured to Gypsy. 

"Don't worry, the important thing is that none of the teachers found out," Gypsy murmured back. "Believe me, a Durmstranger knows how to be discreet." 

"All right," said Richard warily, but didn't look convinced. Beth knew that he tended to be overprotective when it came to his secrets. 

Trying to pretend that being laughed at by half a dozen foreigners didn't bother her, Beth turned from the table to get a better look at the Beauxbatons delegation. As usual, the sound of loud laughter from the Slytherin table aroused suspicion from the other houses, and they were getting the usual looks of annoyance, disgust, and fear. Even some of the Beauxbatons students were looking their way, although most of them seemed merely curious. One thin-faced boy stared more intently. Beth followed his gaze and found that it fell on the pretty face of Antigone von Dervish. 

Beth nudged Antigone, who grudgingly broke off conversation with her seventh-year girlfriends. "Hmm?" 

"I think that boy is staring at you." 

Antigone cast a disinterested look at the Ravenclaw table, and the boy's Adam's apple leapt. "Can you blame him?" she said lazily. 

Beth rolled her eyes and grinned. She and the rest of the school were very used to Antigone's vanity; it would only take a few weeks, and plenty of cold shoulders, before the Beauxbatons boy caught on as well. Indeed, the boy now looked heartbroken that the object of his attention had glanced his way and then gone back to conversation without so much as a raised eyebrow. 

During the course of dinner, Beth had a chance to be introduced to most of the Durmstrang competitors. It turned out that several of the competitors had actually met the S.S.A. the previous year, during the trip to see Professor Viridian. A blonde girl of Amazonian proportions re-introduced herself to Mervin as Maria-Regina Dolohov. Melissa remembered Andrei Gregorovich, whose family rivaled the Ollivanders for control of the European wand market, and promptly got into a massive argument over whether and under what conditions a wand should be replaced. As it was extremely amusing, nobody tried to break them up -- and indeed, both of them seemed to be having a good time. 

Viktor Krum didn't say much. He seemed to enjoy simply listening to his schoolmates converse gaily around him. Gypsy reminisced about her days at Hogwarts and told stories from Durmstrang which Josef was only too happy to spice up with his own interpretations. Halfway through dessert (and right after an alarming anecdote about Professor Viridian and the headmaster's favorite potted plant), Melissa looked up at the head table and squealed excitedly. 

"Look, Beth! Visitors, at the head table!" 

Beth swiveled in her chair. Besides Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff, two grown wizards had joined the teachers at the front of the Hall. Both of them looked vaguely familiar. 

_"Bartemius Crouch!"_ Melissa said rapturously. "He's the head of the Department for International Cooperation -- Dad talked him into putting a tariff on imported wands just last summer," she added. "He's very powerful ... I should really try to say hello ..." 

Bruce turned idly to take a look -- and almost choked a spoonful of blancmange. _"Mel, do you know who that is?"_

"I told you," said Melissa irritably, "that's Bartemius Crouch, from the Minis--" 

Bruce looked scandalized. "Not him! The important one! That's Ludo Bagman!" 

"Oh." Melissa rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Yes, of course ..." 

"Mel, he was a Beater for _England_ back in the day!" 

"Quite a few days ago, I would say," Melissa said tartly. Mr. Bagman was obviously past his physical prime. 

Before Bruce could properly display his outrage, the uneaten desserts faded and the plates were whisked away by magical hands. Dumbledore rose from his seat. The entire company suddenly fell into a buzzing, excited hush. 

"The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start." 

_"Write it down!"_ Richard hissed, beating at Beth's arm distractedly. "Get the pen! Record it all! We need this!" 

"Good lord, settle down, Rich," Beth grumbled, but she took out her new Quick-Quotes Quill, licked the end, and set it on her napkin. It was just in time to catch the beginning of Dumbledore's next sentence. 

"I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation --" Melissa applauded voraciously, though she was one of the only ones "-- and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." 

Bruce joined the rest of the school in cheering enthusiastically for Mr. Bagman, who waved back at them cheerily. 

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts. The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch." 

"I thought we wouldn't need a casket until after it started," muttered Evan darkly. It turned out that he had the wrong idea, for the wooden casket that Mr. Filch now carried to the front of the room was hardly large enough to hold the corpse of anything but a baby, and no one ever had a burial casket like this: smooth with vast age, slathered with gemstones and inlays of gold. Filch gently lay the casket onto the table in front of Dumbledore and slunk back into the shadows. 

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways ... their magical prowess -- their daring -- their powers of deduction -- and, of course, their ability to cope with danger." 

The silence was so overwhelming that Beth was almost afraid to breathe. Richard, intent on catching every word, was leaning so far over the table that he looked like he was going to topple over. 

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament." 

"Not seven, as the name implies?" Evan murmured. 

"-- one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." 

Dumbledore rapped on the lid of the casket three times with his wand; the lid creaked open of its own accord. A faint bluish light showed over the top. Reaching in, Dumbledore pulled out a wide wooden goblet that would not have been out of place at an ancient medieval feast, except for the electric blue flames shooting out of the top. He set the goblet on top of its casket and continued speaking. 

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete." 

Some of the students turned to the Entrance Hall, as if expecting the goblet to vanish and reappear there immediately. "That means no Filch," murmured Bruce gleefully. "Party in the Entrance Hall tonight!" 

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line." 

It could have been her imagination, but Beth thought she saw Dumbledore flick a knowing look at the Gryffindors. She glanced at Richard, and saw exactly what she expected to see: a "we'll-see-about-that" look on his face, and the glint of ambition in his eye. 

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obligated to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet." 

Viktor snorted quietly and crossed his arms. Gypsy gave his shoulder an encouraging rub. 

"Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all." 

Richard looked like someone had kicked him off the train halfway to his destination. "That's it?" he said disbelievingly, over the clamor as students rose, yawning, to return to their common rooms. "There's nothing else?" 

"That's it, Rich," Beth said firmly, putting away her Quick-Quotes Quill and handing him the parchment. "It's enough." 

"It's going to have to be," he said sadly, looking down at the page. 

The Durmstrang headmaster was hurrying over to the Slytherin table. His students reluctantly stood up as he approached. 

"Back to the ship, then!" said Karkaroff loudly, clapping his hands together once. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchen?" 

Viktor shook his head curtly, not looking up from the table, as he and his classmates began standing up and putting on their fur cloaks. 

"Professor, I vood like some vine," Josef said hopefully, wiggling his eyebrows back at his classmates. 

Karkaroff's tone changed instantly. "I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," he snapped, glaring at Josef in much the same way that Snape looked at the Weasleys. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy --" 

They began to follow Karkaroff and Viktor back to the lake. As they went, Gypsy leaned into Beth's group. "Karkaroff wouldn't have brought Josef, except he scored the highest on the preliminaries," she whispered gleefully. "Burns him up. If Josef becomes the Champion he'll spit brimstone." 

"Or vorse," Josef added cheerfully, speaking over his shoulder as they walked. "He vill cheat against me -- oof!" 

Not looking where he was going, he ran into the back of Andrei Gregorovich, who grunted and swung around as if to deck him. One by one, the Slytherins and Durmstrangers ground to a halt. Karkaroff had stopped dead in the doorway and was staring into the crowd of Hogwarts students. Beth followed his gaze -- it was fixed on the forehead of Harry Potter, who just stared back at him. A murmur ran through the Durmstrang students. 

"So that's him," Gypsy said softly. "Our textbooks don't even have baby pictures." 

Josef nudged her excitedly and pointed at Potter. "Vhat did I tell you! He is here!" 

"Oh yes," said Richard tiredly. "He's here." 

"Stealing all of Richard's glory, no doubt," Gypsy whispered, and Beth giggled. Richard shot them a dirty look. 

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," someone growled from behind. 

It was Mad-Eye Moody, clomp-clomping his way toward Karkaroff, who jerked as if he had been caught stealing and blanched pale. "You!" 

"Me," said Moody, not taking his eyes from Karkaroff's face. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway." 

Josef let out an amused snort; Andrei quickly clapped a hand over Josef's mouth, unsure of whether this peg-legged gargoyle was intentionally being funny. 

Karkaroff turned coldly and stalked out of the door, and his students followed quickly in his wake. 

"See you tomorrow morning," Gypsy said swiftly, on the way out. "We're all getting up early to put our names in the Goblet." 

"And we," said Richard, with a big grin, "are staying up late to do it." 

***

The Vase Room was less energetic than usual. After an exhausting day and a huge feast, all anyone wanted to do was go to bed ... except for Richard, of course. 

"Come on, liven up, you lot," he ordered from behind the Ledger's podium. "No napping, now. Bruce, you and I are the only members who can legally cross the Age Line, but I know any one of you would put up a good fight. We need to come up with a way to enter everybody else. We've only got twenty-four hours!" 

"Wish we'd had more time to think it over," said Bruce, with a big yawn. He stretched out on the low divan. "If they'd told us at the beginning of the year ..." 

"Then every Ravenclaw in the place would've had time to puzzle it out," said Richard grimly. "They're bookish but we're the cunning ones. Let's put it to good use. How d'you get past an Age Line?" 

"Aging potion," said Blaise and Herne, at more or less the same time. 

"That," said Melissa, "is an _excruciatingly_ obvious trick, and I'm sure Dumbledore's thought of it." 

"It's all right," said Blaise, hurt. 

"But she's right, Dumbledore'll come up with that one himself," said Richard thoughtfully. "Be sneakier." 

"We could always have you put in the lot of us at once," said Mervin. 

"Again, obvious," said Richard. "It might just chuck them all back out again. It's not worth risking our only seventeen-year-old members. Try again." 

"Could you write it down on a paper, then -- sort of float it in? You wouldn't cross the line, just the paper," Oren suggested. 

Richard looked impressed. "Not bad! Now we're on the track." 

"Or conjure up a paper from outside the line, but have it appear inside the line!" Melissa said. 

"That's it!" said Richard enthusiastically. "Keep going!" 

"We'll kidnap a seventh-year," said a dark voice from the corner, "and Imperius him into entering us." 

It was Evan Wilkes, face almost entirely hidden by his black hair and the shadows. Richard frowned. 

"I'd like to keep it down to just one illegal act at a time," he said lightly, "and let's stay away from the Unforgivable curses, shall we?" 

Herne snorted back a laugh, and Evan glared at him before settling back into silence. 

"There are potions that will negate enchantments," said Beth thoughtfully, "but those have to be done perfectly or it all gets tangled up. It'd take weeks to research." 

"It takes weeks to make a Polyjuice Potion," Richard said, smiling, "and you can do it in two days." 

"That was a special case," Beth grinned. "And the Gryffindors had already done the hard stuff for me." 

Mervin rolled his eyes. The younger members, who hadn't been around to see Daedalus Dellinger petrified by a basilisk while illegally in the form of a snake, exchanged glances and decided not to ask. Audra merely sat still with her small, immobile smile. 

A loud snore broke over the silence. Bruce had fallen asleep on the low divan. 

Everyone laughed and Bruce awoke with a snort. "Come on, chaps," said Richard heartily. "Up and about. Let's go break some rules!" 

Smothering their laughter, the Society set off for the Entrance Hall, where the Goblet of Fire stood. 

***

Oren's method worked extremely well. 

Richard and Bruce each stepped over the Age Line to put in their names; then one by one, the rest of the members wrote their names on torn-off bits of parchment and floated them into the Goblet. As it was Oren's idea, they made him go first. When close inspection proved that nothing had gone wrong, everyone else followed. In a matter of ten minutes they had all entered the Tournament and were on their way to bed. 

"Bet you Knuts to Galleons we get attacked tomorrow night," said Mervin gloomily, as they reached the door of the common room. 

"What makes you say that?" Melissa grinned. "Not the fact that the mountain troll incident happened on Halloween?" 

"Or that the Chamber of Secrets was opened on Halloween?" said Bruce innocently. 

"Or the time Sirius Black broke in -- _on Halloween?"_ Beth added. 

"Call it a hunch," said Mervin, as the common room door appeared in the wall before them. He turned to them as they split to go to their separate dormitories. "I don't know about you girls, but tomorrow -- I'm locking the bedroom door." 

~~~~~~~~~   
Antigone is conjugating the French verb "to kiss". 


	5. The Goblet's Choice

**Chapter Five: The Goblet's Choice**

By the time Beth made it down to breakfast the next day, the Durmstrang lot were already there. They had all gotten up early to put in their names; now that the deed was done, they had the day to themselves while Karkaroff was off reacquainting himself with the faculty. Richard abandoned the prefects' table for once and came to eat with them. 

"Professor Karkaroff says it's all right if we keep sitting at your table!" Gypsy said cheerfully, almost as soon as he had sat down. "He knows Snape from somewhere, and when I reminded him that we had the purest blood in the school, that was all it took! He won't let us sit anywhere else now!" 

Richard laughed. "Splendid," he said. "In an ends-justify-the-means sort of way." He was in quite a good mood at having gotten past the Age Line. 

"So what do they do at Durmstrang?" Melissa asked, digging into her omelet. "Make the Mu-- er, Muggle-born sit on the opposite side of the dining hall?" 

"But there aren't any Mudbloods at Durmstrang." 

Beth stopped eating. "There _aren't_ any?" 

"No." Gypsy shook her head. "Headmaster Karkaroff won't admit them." 

"Where do all the Muggle-born go to school then?" 

"Oh --" Gypsy waved her hand. "There are lots of little schools. Near my house it's St. Nikita's. But they're all so tiny that their programs aren't nearly as good, and since all the purebloods get accepted at Durmstrang, it's only the Mudbloods who go there anyway." 

Beth thought about asking her not to use the term Mudblood, but didn't, still being uncertain of where having a Squib parent put you on the spectrum. 

"Sort of a shame, that," said Richard offhandedly. He cast a glance at Beth. "You never know what he could be missing." 

Beth turned a brilliant red. 

Gypsy favored Beth with only the most disinterested of glances before going on enthusiastically. "Oh Richard, did I tell you? We'll all be staying here all year, even though only one of us will actually compete. Isn't it the most wonderful thing? I can't imagine anything better than spending my last year of school back at Hogwarts with all of you!" 

She laid a slender hand on Richard's arm. 

"Wonderful," Richard agreed. 

"Oy, Beth! Guess what I heard!" 

Aaron Pucey leaned over Beth's shoulder, plate in hand, and started loading it with waffles. Irritated, Beth tore her eyes from the sight of Gypsy's hand on Richard's arm. "What?" 

"Warrington's done it! He got up really early this morning and put his name in the goblet." Aaron paused to pile on some pancakes as well. "Isn't that tremendous?" He grabbed the maple syrup and flooded his plate. 

"Tremendous," said Beth absently. Her gaze slid back towards Gypsy; she stopped herself and looked down at her plate. 

"What do you know," said Melissa. "I didn't really think he'd go through with it." 

"He did," Aaron beamed. "If you ask me, he's got the best chance of being chosen, too. Better him than Pretty-Boy Diggory." He vanished down the table to sit with Warrington and some of the other Quid-heads. 

The two girls exchanged slightly worried glances. "I think he does have a chance," said Beth, looking down the table at Warrington. "That's what scares me." 

Melissa smiled. "You have to give him credit for ambition." 

"I just hope he doesn't make it," said Beth fervently. "I mean, it'd be great to have a Slytherin champion and all, but he's just not ... _smart_ enough." 

"But I bet he could beat up all the other champions," said Melissa brightly. 

"There is that," Beth agreed. 

There was a burst of laughter from the Entrance Hall. Nearly everyone turned to see what had happened. Along with several other students, Mervin Fletcher, practically crying with laughter, staggered to the table and immediately collapsed into hysterics. Through the howls he managed to gasp out: 

"Weasleys -- Age Line -- _big white beards!"_

And it was about fifteen minutes before they could get him to make any sense. 

***

Apart from lunch, nobody saw the Durmstrang students all day. Bruce and some of the guys went flying; they came back with red cheeks, chapped lips, and wet hair from the light drizzle that had begun to fall in midafternoon. Oren Bergeron tried to teach some yo-yo tricks to some of the firsties, but was forced to quit when they wouldn't stop making fun of him for knowing such a "Muggle" game. Evan trounced Mervin at chess five times in a row. Mervin gave up and turned over his pieces to Audra, who had been watching quietly, and who defeated Evan so quickly that he didn't notice until her softly spoken "Checkmate." 

Beth spent the day by the fire, getting to know her new Alchemy III textbook. (_Snakes, Snails, and Puppy-Dog Tails: Really Really Advanced Alchemy_ by Nicholas Flamel.) She had been thinking about the final project for the past several weeks, conceiving and discarding ideas, and all she knew for certain was that she wanted to work on it by herself. She wanted to come up with something useful, something new and creative. Maybe, she thought, scratching at her left arm, she could invent a better remedy for poison ivy. 

Warrington spent the day in the common room as well, surrounded by admirers and well-wishers. Even his success on the Quidditch team had never earned him this kind of fame or respect. He was thoroughly enjoying all the attention, as the most popular Slytherin candidate, and if he got sick of hearing "I wish I was old enough to enter," he never showed it. Beth did notice that he would occasionally cast a hopeful glance at the sofa where Antigone lounged, doing her nails, but the girl did not return his gaze a single time. 

Draco hung around in one corner, sulking about the age limit with his two buddies. Pansy stayed at his side to comfort him. Blaise got absolutely sick of hearing his voice and went back to her dormitory to study, after coming over to Beth and having a nice long rant over it. 

By dinnertime, however, the lazy afternoon atmosphere grew charged. The ones who had put their names in the Goblet could be seen sneaking out of the common room to fix their hair or freshen up their robes. (Bruce and Aaron, who had gotten rowdy on their broomsticks and both ended up in the mud by the side of the lake, had plenty more to freshen up than that.) Slytherins were expert at covering their emotions, but the thrill of competition was obvious nonetheless. Only three people showed no excitement at all: Evan Wilkes, Audra Verona, and Antigone von Dervish. 

"Honestly," said Antigone lazily, as they made their way to the Great Hall, "_I_ certainly don't care who the Hogwarts champion is. What difference does it make to me?" 

"You want him to be handsome, don't you?" said Beth, tongue firmly in cheek. 

"Well of _course,"_ said Antigone. "But even a silly wooden goblet wouldn't choose an _ugly_ champion." 

Warrington, walking just a few paces away, blushed red from his toes to the roots of his hair. 

Dinner was excellent. Conversation went on at a steady pace, but tonight the Durmstrang and Slytherin students mostly spoke among their own classmates. The atmosphere was heavier, with a subtle sense of rush, an underlying anxiety that Beth felt twisting her own gut when she thought about the choosing to be done later that night. She could tell that no one was really paying attention to what they ate; their eyes kept flicking to the burning goblet at the front of the room. 

The desserts came and went without fanfare. 

The moments ticked past. 

Finally, Dumbledore rose to his feet. Instantly, a hush fell on the Great Hall; every eye was trained on the old man at the front of the hall. 

"Well," said Dumbledore, "the goblet is almost ready to make its decision." He was as calm as ever. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber where they will be receiving their first instructions." 

Beth hazarded a glance at Richard; he was craning his neck in the direction that Dumbledore was pointing, and looked as though he'd give his left leg to be invited into that chamber. 

Dumbledore swept his wand into the air and half of the candles in the hall immediately snuffed out. The remaining candlelight flickered on the faces of the students; looking down the table, it was almost frightening to see Slytherin and Durmstrang mingled, their expressions hungry, the greed in their eyes exaggerated in the half-dark. It made even the most mild-mannered among them look desperate. For a moment Beth could understand what made them the most feared students in the school; but then she cast her eyes around the Great Hall, and saw that many of the others looked the same way. 

_Whoosh!_ In an instant, the blue-white flames in the Goblet of Fire turned brilliant red and began crackling like a sparkler. A long flame erupted skyward, shooting a small piece of paper into the air, and the fire immediately turned blue again. Dumbledore caught the parchment in midair. 

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum." 

Viktor swore under his breath. That was the last thing Beth heard before the Great Hall became a roar of applause, no doubt fueled by Viktor's vast fame. (Beth noticed that the Quidditch players at all four houses were cheering extra hard.) 

"Bravo, Viktor!" came Karkaroff's booming voice. "Knew you had it in you!" 

Viktor shot him a covert glare. The other Durmstrang students whooped and cheered, flocking around to pat him on the back, and reluctantly he rose from his seat and slunk to the front of the room, where he disappeared into the next chamber as quickly as possible. 

When he was out of sight the Durmstrang students resumed their original spots. "At least he'll have somet'ing to do vhile missing nine months of practice vith the Vultures," Josef said cheerfully, settling in beside Bruce. 

Gypsy looked at the door to the side chamber and sighed a little. "Poor Viktor. This was the last thing he wanted." 

Before anyone could ask what she meant, the goblet flamed red in the semi-darkness and shot out a second parchment. Dumbledore snatched it up on the way back down, and once more the Great Hall collectively held its breath. 

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!" 

Everyone cheered and craned their necks to see which of the Beauxbatons students went by Fleur Delacour. A tall girl with long, silver hair stood and strode to the front of the room, smiling with both grace and pride. She was staggeringly beautiful. Not a boy in the Great Hall took their eyes from her until the door to the side chamber had closed her from view. 

"Flower of the heart," said Bruce softly. Melissa shot him a glance and he turned pink. "That's -- the translation," he said awkwardly. "Her name. In French." 

"I _know_ what it means," said Melissa coldly, but before anything could escalate, the hall fell silent for the third time. Anticipation lay as thick as morning mist. Bruce's eyes were fixed on the gleaming blue of the goblet's flame. Warrington appeared to be panting slightly. Richard had his fists clenched on the tabletop, and -- it could have been a trick of the light -- but it seemed that small beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Suddenly it seemed unbearably stuffy in the spacious hall ... surely they could choke on the anticipation that had built up ... Richard was muttering something inaudible ... 

The goblet flamed red and Beth almost jumped out of her seat. Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the paper, and in a clear voice announced: 

"The Hogwarts champion ... is Cedric Diggory!" 

It was as if a tidal wave had broken over the Great Hall. A roar of ecstatic screams and cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff table, drowning out everything else in the room. Gradually the rest of Hogwarts joined in as Cedric Diggory, beaming, extracted himself from his wildly celebrating classmates and made his way to the room past the staff table. 

Beth mustered a few halfhearted claps just to show that she was a good sport; looking down the table she saw that she wasn't the only disappointed one. Richard swallowed hard and applauded in a polite, if stiff, manner. Warrington refused to cheer at all, and sat looking sullenly at his placemat while Antigone, down the table, turned up her nose at him. The Durmstrangers, in fact, were cheering for Diggory more enthusiastically than any of the Slytherins, and looked a little puzzled that he wasn't being strongly supported by his schoolmates. Among them, only Gypsy wasn't showing any surprise. 

Dumbledore was on his feet again, spreading his arms effusively at the front of the room. "Excellent!" he cried, over the fading exultation. "Well, now we have our three champions." 

Beth met Richard's gaze. He grinned a bit feebly and said, "At least it wasn't Potter." Beth grinned back. 

"I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster," Dumbledore went on, beaming at all of the assembled students. "By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real ..." 

Dumbledore broke off abruptly. The fire in the goblet had turned red once more, and was spitting sparks just as it had done three times before. A long sliver of flame shot into the sky and another piece of parchment fluttered out of the goblet ... 

Dead silence fell on the Great Hall. Very slowly, the headmaster caught the parchment and held it in the light of the goblet, which went blue and suddenly went out. In the darkness, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said ... 

_"Harry Potter."_

The jaws of a hundred Slytherins clattered to the floor. There was only a very short moment where everyone in the Great Hall sat stunned by the news; then Warrington stood up in the direction of the Gryffindor table and roared, _"What?"_

The silence was shattered. Whispers and hisses rose on all sides, escalating into angry or bewildered babble. The tall blonde Maria-Regina stood up alongside Warrington, very red in the face. _"Vhat?"_ she demanded, looking very much like the Slytherin beside her. "Who said you could haff two?" 

Now more students, from all four houses and all three schools, were standing up to get a look at Potter, who sat frozen in his seat. 

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore repeated, and his voice was calm but emotionless. "Harry! Up here, if you please!" 

"He's going to lose a _hundred_ house points for this," said Mervin fervently, as if saying so would make it true. "He's going to get in so much trouble ... expelled, probably ..." 

"Don't get my hopes up," groaned Bruce. 

Very slowly, Potter approached the staff table at the front of the room. He didn't look proud that he had gotten away with something so huge, or even embarrassed -- if anything, he seemed as bewildered as anyone. He paused in front of Dumbledore, who said, "Well ... through the door, Harry," and Potter turned and walked into the side chamber. The door shut loudly. 

Beth and Melissa looked at each other, mouths agape. Before either of them could fully articulate their shock that somehow, Potter had bested them _again_ -- and by _October,_ no less -- Dumbledore rose from where he had been bent in swift discussion with the other adults at the staff table and got to his feet. 

"Your attention please," he said clearly, and somehow the hall fell silent. Ludo Bagman got up from his seat and scurried into the anteroom. "I would appreciate everyone's cooperation as this unexpected event is handled as swiftly and as fairly as possible. Delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, it is the wish of your headmasters that you return to your respective quarters, where you will be joined by your professors and champions later tonight. Hogwarts students, your prefects will escort you to your dormitories. Your heads of house will be along soon. Thank you in advance for your understanding, and I wish all of you a very happy Halloween." 

He clapped once, and the lights sprang back on. Once again, excited babble rose among the students as Dumbledore and a number of professors vanished into the side chamber where the champions presumably waited. 

Richard leapt into action. "Slytherin, down to the dormitories," he called, over the tumult. "You can talk about it when we get there ... the best thing we can do now is keep out of the way ..." The Slytherin students slowly began to stream past into the Entrance Hall. Draco Malfoy shoved his way through the crowd, positively livid, and stopped in front of Richard, glaring imperiously although he was easily a foot shorter than his prefect. 

"Are they really going to let that half-blood, Muggle-loving orphan compete in the _Tournament?"_ he demanded. 

"I don't know," said Richard shortly. "Go down and start a petition against it." 

Draco turned red in the face and swept away, muttering venom beneath his breath. 

Richard turned to Gypsy and the Durmstrang students, who stood in a huddle at the end of the table. "Do you ... want an escort to the ship?" he offered awkwardly. 

"Vhe'll be fine," Maria-Regina said hotly, and stormed off. One by one, the Durmstrang students followed her out of the castle. Richard bent and whispered something in Gypsy's ear as she went by; she nodded and moved on without looking up at him. 

Beth and Melissa made their way to him, elbowing through the crowd. "What --" Melissa began, but Richard leaned toward them and muttered: 

"Vase Room at midnight. This is worth talking about." 

Quickly, they nodded and moved past. 

"Why is it always Potter?" said Bruce, frustrated, as they reached the common room. "Two hundred students in the school, and it's _always Potter."_

"Dumbledore favors him," Aaron said knowingly. 

And everyone assembled knew that it was true. 

***

They met at midnight. It was difficult to get out of the common room; students were still awake and sputtering about the Goblet's decision to have two Hogwarts champions -- neither, it was agreed, ambitious _or_ cunning enough to have a real chance at winning -- and eventually Richard had to exercise his power as prefect and send everyone to bed, just to clear the way. 

In the Great Hall they had been stunned. Now, in the Vase Room, the Slytherins were furious. 

"He is absolutely _not_ going to get away with this," vowed Blaise, and Morag nodded in vehement agreement. "He's going to _suffer."_

"A foul an' laithful trick," swore Morag, with high Scottish spirit. 

On the low divan, Herne was deep in thought. "Potter might be in danger," he said uncertainly. 

"That's not what worries me," said Richard suddenly. 

The babble quieted as each member turned to look at him. He was somber and troubled at the front of the room, far unlike his usual effusive manner. 

"The Triwizard Tournament means two things to the Champions," he said. "A chance for glory -- and a brush with death." 

There was an unsettling silence. 

"It's supposed to be a lot safer this year," Bruce said, with almost a hint of disappointment. 

"It might be," said Richard grimly, "if Diggory hadn't added his own little element into the mix." 

There was a moments' pause as they grappled with his words. Suddenly it all became clear to Beth -- she looked up from the Ledger in cold horror, meeting Richard's gaze wide-eyed. 

"The Transcongus Brew," she said breathlessly. "Oh no --" 

"The what?" said Oren Bergeron eagerly. 

Melissa turned toward him. "Two years ago we caught Diggory mixing a potion out of one of the restricted books. It said it would give him great glory, talent, intelligence, power, everything in exchange for a short life. And he's just been getting more popular ever since --" She cast a helpless look at Richard. "But it couldn't have meant his life would be _that_ short. Would it?" 

"It would." Richard drew a deep breath and the light of ambition rose in his eyes. "But there's something that the potion didn't count on, and that's the Society." He gripped the sides of the podium fiercely. "We know about what he's done. We can do something about it. Chaps, we've got our quest for the year -- the Society has to do everything, everything in its power to _keep Diggory alive."_

There was a hush. Then Evan Wilkes, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, drawled, "Why would we want to do that?" 

"Grow a heart," said Melissa in disgust, but Evan stood up and took a few strides toward the group. 

"He's brought this on himself. We'd be risking our reputations, our secrecy, and maybe even our own lives to save him from something we might not even be able to change. I want to know why." 

Everyone turned to look at Richard expectantly. For long moments he and Evan locked gazes, the Vase Room dead with silence. Finally, to everyone's surprise, Richard ducked his head and blushed slightly. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just get the feeling that we're in the wrong somehow if we stand back and don't interfere. As if we have to be part of the solution, or we're part of the problem. And if Dumbledore finds out that we knew all along, and did nothing ..." 

_Aha,_ Beth thought. Dumbledore's high opinion of the Society was Richard's strongest motivator. 

"I didn't think the Society was founded for the greater good," Evan sneered. 

"No, it's for improving Slytherin's reputation," Melissa broke in suddenly. "It'll look good on us if we help someone else. And Dumbledore told us to offer our champions every ounce of support we could muster. Remember? Saving his life probably counts. Right, Rich?" 

"Of course," said Richard gratefully. "If Diggory's going to be famous, it'll be better if he thinks well of us." 

A self-serving explanation must have been what Evan was looking for, because he leaned against a nearby vase, satisfied -- at least, as satisfied as he ever looked. 

Herne raised his hand. "You know how last year Dumbledore told us to try and protect Potter --?" he said, but Richard interrupted. 

"I'm not worried about Potter," he said shortly. "Everyone's going to be looking out for Potter because he's obviously in danger -- too young to compete, and all. But Diggory ... I don't think anyone knows the danger he's in ... least of all Diggory himself." 

The door to the Vase Room creaked open and everyone turned to look. Gypsy Arendt slipped inside, a dark cloak wrapped tight around her blood-red robes. 

"I see Mrs. Norris is still alive," she said, a note of bitterness in her soft voice. "I don't blame you for starting without me. She had me holed up in a classroom for fifteen minutes." She strode to the front of the room and took a seat on the low divan. "What have I missed?" 

Richard looked uncomfortable. Then he said, "Gypsy ... how much do you want Viktor to win the Tournament?" 

Gypsy looked at him from slightly narrowed eyes. "What kind of a question is that?" she asked, sweet voice laced with razors. 

"We, er ..." Richard shifted slightly. "We're planning to give a little help to one of the Hogwarts champions. Not enough to help him win, just to ... er ... see him through to the end ..." Quickly he described the situation. 

Gypsy pursed her lips. "Help Diggory if you must," she said, "but I won't betray Viktor. He needs all the support he can get." 

Bruce snorted. "He just caught the Snitch at the _Quidditch World Cup_ -- how much support does he need?" 

Gypsy turned on him. "That's just it," she said seriously. "He's so afraid of what people will say if he loses ... or if he wins ... he was seriously considering not putting his name into the Goblet at all, but Karkaroff watched us too close for that." She sighed softly. "If I do any cheating, it'll be for Viktor. But I won't stop you from helping Diggory if that's what you think needs to be done." She met Richard's eyes, and he flushed and cleared his throat loudly. 

"All right then," he said, "Project Diggory begins immediately." 

There was a pause. Then Bruce said, in a voice both resigned and resolute, "What do you want us to do?" 

Richard thought for a moment. "We'll help him with his tasks. If he knows what they are ahead of time, we can prepare him so that he doesn't die of shock, or meet something unexpected. There'll be three of them, so we'll have to be in tip-top shape all year." 

"Come on, Rich," Melissa teased, "we're _always_ in tip-top shape. Gloria serpens, after all." 

"Gloria serpens," said Richard fervently, "and good luck to Cedric Diggory." 

~~~~~~~~   
Bruce actually misheard Fleur's name. "Delacouer" would be "of the heart"; "Delacour" is actually "of the court" or "of the courtyard". I don't think that's quite as appropriate as the other spelling. 


	6. Potter Stinks

**Chapter Six: Potter Stinks**

The week after Halloween was very different than the rest of the year had been up to that point. For one thing, Harry Potter was extremely unpopular with everybody but his own housemates. (The Slytherins found it a rather nice change.) On the other hand, Cedric Diggory was having an excellent time of it -- whole flocks of girls suddenly started waiting outside of his classrooms to see him emerge, which drove the rest of the sixth-years crazy. It was strange to come down to breakfast and hear another language being spoken at the other end of the table. One of the Durmstrang girls (her classmates confided) had spent her entire life refusing to learn English; she barely knew ten words of it. Bruce, intrigued, asked her about it, and came back grinning. 

"Her brother's on the Vratsa Vultures with Krum," he reported, "and the first year he made the team they were utterly whipped by the Appleby Arrows. Just demolished. So she's waging a silent war against England -- calls it a 'heathen language' and you don't want to know what else. Actually it was quite funny." 

Melissa gave him a very funny look. "So, wait -- if she only speaks Russian, then you --" 

"I speak Russian. Yeah." Bruce looked surprised. "I thought you knew that. Actually she speaks Bulgarian at home, and Russian at school ... so does Krum, incidentally ... they're sort of similar languages ..." 

"Hang on," Beth interrupted, remembering something from third year, "how many languages exactly do you know?" 

Bruce squirmed. "A couple." He grinned bashfully. "I mean, if you're that curious, go look it up. It's in the Ledger." 

Later that evening, they did. It was over twenty. 

Richard, not one to miss out on the fun of getting to know the foreigners, alternated between the Slytherin table and the prefects' table. Friday he sat with the Durmstrangers, reminiscing with Gypsy and comparing their scholastic experiences over the past three years. Eventually the talk got around to mutual acquaintances. Richard paused, then spat out the question he had been dying to ask. 

"Gypsy ..." He hesitated again. "What do you know about Riggs?" 

Gypsy looked away. "Nothing. He graduated last year ... I haven't heard of him since. He never really got to know his classmates -- he only had a year, and you know he's a bit backward socially --" 

"And morally," said Richard bitterly. "The Ledger says that he's in Suffolk. I haven't the faintest idea what he's doing there. He never returns my letters." 

Gypsy laid a hand on Richard's arm. "At least you're still trying," she said softly. 

Beth got up and moved down the table to sit with Melissa. 

"Honestly," she said, settling herself down, "it would be nice if she would just quit pawing him." 

Melissa leaned down the table to see to what degree Richard was actually getting pawed. 

Before she could comment, Blaise Zabini came and plunked down between them. She had a cardboard box in one hand, which she thrust at Beth. 

"Here. Take one and pass them down." She looked terribly excited. 

Beth looked down at the box in her hands. It was stuffed full of badges that read, in glowing green letters: 

**SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY--   
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!**

She glanced back up at Blaise. "Where'd you get these?" 

"Mail-order," she said proudly. "There's a place in London that'll do them -- Draco and I ordered them Monday, it just took this long to get here. I think that's enough for the school, don't you? And look what else they do --" She reached into the box and pressed her finger to one of the badges. Immediately, the green words vanished and were replaced with bold red lettering: 

**

POTTER STINKS

**

Beth gaped and then started to laugh. "I _love_ them!" 

Blaise beamed. "Knew you would. Go on, pass them down, we want to make sure everyone has one by lunchtime. We've got Potions right after. It'll be a good time to show them off to the Gryffindors, you know?" 

"I wish I could be there," said Beth jealously, fixing a badge to the front of her cloak. 

"The best part," said Blaise, with a wicked grin, "is that Granger gave us the idea." She grabbed a handful of badges and hustled away to distribute them to a few first-years who hadn't been around very long, but had already figured out that they were supposed to think of Potter as the enemy. 

Bruce took two. "One to wear," he said, cheerfully flashing POTTER STINKS down the table at Aaron, "and one to hang by my bed, just so I can look at it all the time." He sighed wistfully. "If only we had a Quidditch game this year. We could all wear them, and blink them to distract him." Beth patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. 

Blaise and her classmates must have done their work well -- the badges got more and more popular as the day went on, and by the time Beth made her way down to dinner, nearly everybody had one. The fourth years were absolutely delighted that their plan had worked. Furthermore, it had directly led to the loss of fifty points from Gryffindor -- all told, it was no wonder that Malfoy wore the satisfied expression of a cat with feathers in its teeth. 

She set her books down on the tabletop, but before she could sit down, there was a tugging at her sleeve and an extremely loud, arrogant voice sounded: 

"Hey! Hey you!" 

She looked around for the source of the noise. Finally she looked down. About a foot and a half below her was a dark, curly head, sporting a snub nose and some mean-looking freckles. Beth recognized him as the kid who the Weasleys had hissed at during the Sorting ceremony, the one whom they had Obliviated after the first S.S.A. meeting. "Some girl wants you to go to the Entrance Hall," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. 

Beth looked down at him in surprise. "What? Who?" 

The boy shrugged. "Don't know, don't care," he chanted, and strutted off to join his friends in what was sure to be an intellectual, worthwhile dinner. 

Beth scowled after him, thinking how the firsties got ruder every year, and started toward the Entrance Hall. She was arrested by a strong hand around her wrist. 

"Vill you not join us for dinner, Beth?" 

It was Josef Poliakoff, the boy that had recognized her at the feast-before-the-Halloween-feast. His blonde hair was still tousled. He grinned widely while keeping a firm grip on her arm. 

"I ... I'm supposed to meet someone right now," Beth said politely, wondering whether protocol allowed her to pry his fingers from her wrist. "Excuse me." 

She started off and was dragged back to the table by Josef, who hadn't released her. 

"You vill be back, yes?" The Durmstrang boy grinned around at his classmates. "Ve vould be most honored and humbled by your company." 

"Yes, of course," said Beth, blushing faintly. 

Josef let her go -- but before she could leave, he sat back in his chair and pushed his plate away from him. "I vill not eat a bite until you return," he declared, crossing his arms and affecting a pout. His classmates laughed. 

"Uh ... okay," said Beth. She cast a helpless look at Gypst Arendt, who smiled and rolled her eyes. "I'm, uh, going now." 

"If you must," said Josef stuffily, nose in the air, arms still crossed. 

"Um," said Beth. "Well ... bye." She turned and made her escape to the Entrance Hall as quickly as she dared. 

The Entrance Hall was empty except for two people who stood near the door. One of them greeted Beth. 

"Good day, Miss Parson." 

The cool, dusty voice was just as familiar as the silver-haired old man who used it. 

"Mr. Ollivander, hi!" The wand-maker had his hands folded placidly in the sleeves of his robes. Melissa stood beside her uncle, smiling up at him fondly. "What are you doing here?" 

"He's been invited to weigh the contestants' wands," Melissa broke in. "For the Tournament, you know." She beamed. "He's got special permission from Dumbledore to take us out to dinner in Hogsmeade." 

"Though I suggest," said Mr. Ollivander dryly, "that you remove those badges of yours first." 

"Oh." Beth laughed self-consciously and unhooked her Potter Stinks badge. "The other half says 'Support Cedric Diggory.' I think the fourth-years just got carried away." 

"Indeed." 

One of the horseless carriages was waiting for them; apparently, the wandmaker had some influence in the school. Mr. Ollivander took them not to the Three Broomsticks, as Beth had expected, but a small cafe on the second story of a tiny bed-and-breakfast called the Grinning Goose. The room was cozy and warmly lit with great glowing globes over every table. They ordered dinner and were served in no time by a cheery waitress who looked as if she would, if asked, gladly adopt them and be a mother to them all. They talked about school and news from outside Hogwarts. Melissa and her uncle shared a laugh over the fact that the Beauxbatons girl had a wand made from the hair of a veela, although Beth did not entirely get the joke. 

"And Miss Parson," said Mr. Ollivander, turning to her, "how has your school year been?" 

"Fine so far. I've been spending a lot of time in the dungeons." 

The old wandmaker's pale eyes twinkled. "As a prisoner of Professor Snape or of Mr. Filch?" 

Beth laughed. "Snape -- I have a major Alchemy project this year," she explained. "It's going to be really in-depth ... I mean, it's going to take a lot of time." 

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "All worthwhile studies will. And the subject of this project?" 

"Well," said Beth, self-consciously, "I've decided to develop a potion to let you see in the dark. I made some eyedrops a couple of years ago that only worked for about two minutes -- I'd like to do it right this time." 

"Ah -- an excellent goal." Mr. Ollivander looked as if he approved thoroughly. "Best of luck to you. I must point out that should you need any assistance, there are many members of the alumni chapter of the Society who would be most willing and able." 

"Thanks, I appreciate it," said Beth. "How are the alumni doing? Any news?" 

Mr. Ollivander adjusted his spectacles. "In fact, there _is_ news from the Society," he said, dropping his voice to a dry whisper. "A Muggle has disappeared in Little Hangleton -- the same town where the Society crypt stands." 

Melissa waved her hand scornfully. "Muggles are always doing that, going off and getting lost." 

Mr. Ollivander straightened and gave his niece a severe look. "Even a Muggle rarely disappears with no warning or trace," he said sharply. "Especially a Muggle who has kept house for, and was rumored have murdered, the only known relatives of Tom Riddle!" 

The Grinning Goose fell silent. Beth felt the eyes on her and blushed crimson. Melissa's uncle cleared his throat and softly called to the waitress for another gillywater. Melissa said, "Oh," and suddenly became very interested in the food on her plate. 

The old wandmaker took off his thick milky spectacles and polished them meticulously on his napkin. "We are, to say the least, concerned about such a suspicious event occurring so close to our meeting place," said Mr. Ollivander, more quietly. "Especially with such a connection to our founder. We have arranged for one of our members to search the house fully, although a quick early investigation turned up nothing. He will report to us after Christmas." 

"You'll let the student chapter know then, right?" Melissa said anxiously. 

Mr. Ollivander pursed his thin lips. "My dear niece ... that depends on what he finds." 

***

November rolled in cool and clear. While the schedule hardly varied from year to year, little changes helped keep things fresh. 

Foreign languages flew through the air in the halls or at meals. (Bruce had by now been asked to translate so often that he had started doing it automatically.) Draco had been keeping a lower profile than usual after the ferret incident, although his tongue had become sharper and his looks more venomous. When the Daily Prophet came out with a hilarious article about the champions -- in fact, mostly just about Potter the tragic hero -- Draco made sure everyone got a copy, and from then on he looked a little happier. Professor Moody was doing a bang-up job of terrifying his students. More than once, Richard had been called upon to comfort a younger student who had the bad luck to startle the Defense teacher. The first-years, on the other hand, were a malicious little bunch, and they actually seemed to get a kick out of dodging a hex from Moody's quick trigger-finger. 

Josef Poliakoff gave Beth a great deal of grief for not returning to dinner. He had not eaten a morsel, he avowed, and his classmates admitted that was true, until he got back to the ship and devoured Andrei's private snack stash. 

Career Counseling became the low point of the sixth-years' week. Madame Pince never varied her curriculum and she never expressed anything but the most detached disdain for the class in general. While the students in Apparator's Ed were studying geography and hearing grisly splinching stories (they claimed), the C.C. students slogged through quizzes and examined possible career paths. Beth began to wish that the Sorting Hat could set you up with a job as well as a Hogwarts house. 

Bruce was wearing his badge set permanently on POTTER STINKS, and never wasted an opportunity to harass him in the hallways. "Come on," he reasoned, after managing to quote a good length of the Prophet article to the back of Potter's head on the way to D.A.D.A one Friday. "For once, we're in the majority around here. We have to take advantage of it." 

"But must you offer him a hanky every time we pass him?" said Melissa. 

Bruce shrugged disarmingly. "You never know when he's going to bust into tears over his parents --" He noticed that Professor Moody was giving him a bit of a glare and broke off. 

Melissa caught Moody's look as well. "Be careful what you say, Brucey," she warned. "Someone'll think you've got it in for Potter." 

"I _have_ got it in for Potter," said Bruce, but just then Moody, at the front of the room, said very loudly, "Dumbledore tells me you'll all be let out to Hogsmeade village this Saturday." 

The class quieted into whispers. 

"Fine place, Hogsmeade," Moody continued. He put his hands behind his back and began to limp slowly from one side of the room to the other. "Open. Bustling. _Exposed._" He slammed his fist onto Mervin's desk and everybody jumped. "Lots of little shops, lots of little alleyways -- _and your enemies could be anywhere."_

"That's right," whispered Aaron Pucey. "The Weasleys'll be stocked up with Dungbombs again." 

Warrington sniggered loudly. Professor Moody fixed both mismatched eyes on him. 

"Think this is funny, Warrington?" he said in a soft, dangerous growl. The smile faded from Warrington's face. "Think this is a joke?" 

"Uh ..." said Warrington uncertainly. Antigone snorted. 

Professor Moody straightened to face the class. "Anywhere there's alleys and doorways ... anywhere there's people ... anywhere you're out of control ... _that's_ where you're in danger!" He slammed down his fist again. "There's only one way to be safe in the village of Hogsmeade. Constant vigilance!" 

***

"What a useful lesson today," Melissa deadpanned, back in the common room after dinner. "How to avoid being blasted by your enemies in Hogsmeade. I know _I've_ always worried about that sort of thing." 

"I have," said Mervin. "Aaron wasn't kidding about the Weasleys." 

Beth settled into a corner of the sofa with Marvelous Orb: The Mechanics of the Eye. "I don't really feel like going to Hogsmeade this year," she said, stifling a yawn. "I dunno, it seems a little ... boring." 

Melissa sighed and nodded. "It'll be our tenth trip. Not counting the train station." 

"Boring," Bruce agreed. "I'd rather be ..." He trailed off. His eyes grew wide. "I'll be right back." Without another word, he got up and charged out of the common room. 

His friends watched him go. 

"He gets weirder every year," said Mervin. 

"You should talk," said Melissa. 

Bruce was in and out of the common room all evening ... whispering with Warrington ... running back out ... coming back in and chatting up Draco. At curfew, he finally came inside for good. "It's all set," he told Beth and Melissa gleefully. "Now for the rest of it ..." 

He gathered Aaron and Warrington and a few others in front of the fireplace. Then, to Beth and Melissa's tremendous astonishment, he raised his hands and made an announcement to the entire common room. 

"Attention please!" 

One by one the clusters of chat died down. Richard, studying with some classmates, looked up in alarm. 

"We are not going to Hogsmeade tomorrow." There was a burst of whispering. "Your returning Quidditch team members have challenged Durmstrang to a scrimmage match tomorrow morning after breakfast. Anybody in second year or up who wants to play should come down, and everyone's invited to watch." 

Scattered whispers and excited chatter started to fill the air. Bruce raised his hands again. 

"We have only one rule." 

An expectant pause. 

"Don't tell the Gryffindors!" 

The laughter and cheering were evidence that he needn't have said anything. 

***

The next morning, when most of the school excitedly filed out of the Great Hall to board the coaches bound for Hogsmeade, the Slytherin and Durmstrang students stayed seated. Eventually, Bruce and Josef showed up with broad grins on their faces and a ring of keys in hand. "We've got permission from Hooch," Bruce announced. "Head on down to the pitch -- we'll be along in a moment." 

He surveyed the students swarming out to the Quidditch pitch. He turned to Josef with a slight frown. "We're missing someone." 

Josef looked around anxiously. "Of course! He hasn't heard --t'e star of our team --" 

"The library," they said together. 

They found Viktor Krum in the usual spot: three tables from the corner along the left side of the library. His flat don't-bother-me scowl was firmly in place, and he was by now so used to ignoring his fan club that he didn't notice his classmates until Josef bewitched his notebook to bounce up and down under his quill. He performed the countercurse while Josef (completely oblivious to the heavy-browed glare) quickly described the plan. 

"And ve need _you,_ Viktor Krum. Ve'll never win wit'out you." 

Viktor reddened and looked down at his still-wobbly notes. "No, I vouldn't --" he began gruffly, but Josef grabbed him by the back of his robes and hauled him out of the chair. 

"Who said ve vanted you to play?" he demanded good-naturedly. "Ve need a referee!" 

A shy smile worked its way across Viktor's face and he pulled away from Josef's grip. "Vhat makes you think I von't cheat against you, Poliakoff?" 

"Vhe'll be cheating too, so it vill even out," Josef said immediately. 

"Please, Viktor, you need to get out of this stuffy castle," Gypsy said, tugging on his arm. "You haven't been flying in the daytime for two months." 

Viktor cast an uncertain glance toward his textbooks lying open on the table, but Josef was already shoving them into his knapsack. He thrust it into Viktor's arms. "There. Now you're ready." 

"Khuru'sha, all right," Viktor said resignedly. He looked over his shoulder at a collection of girls huddled in one of the aisles and lowered his voice. "Just don't tell the dievushky vhere I am!" 

***

The sun was still warm for late November, but there was a bite in the air that warned of the winter to come. Slytherin and Durmstrang students alike knelt on the grass or sprawled out on the bleachers, vast and empty without the usual crowds of people. The knock-together game felt comfortably informal; no one wore their school robes, although the Slytherins had settled on makeshift uniforms by raiding their locker room for old green jerseys. 

Bruce had assembled what was left of the team, and passed around the Nimbus 2001's although he himself held his old Comet comfortably under one arm. "Bole and Derrick, you're starting Beaters," he barked, tossing them each a club. Bole and Derrick joyfully butted heads and took off. "Draco, you're Seeker for now. Warrington -- Chaser -- Little Puce -- Chaser --" He looked around thoughtfully, then pointed at Herne Rudisille. "You take Chaser for now." Gratefully, Herne grabbed a broom and swooped into the air. 

Nearby, Josef was taking no such time to gather his team. "Katya, ty budeshy n'vratet' Keeper," he said, checking the Sickle that he had just flipped into his palm. "Gypsy, you're ..." He flipped the coin again. "... Beater. Maria-Regina ... you be t'e Seeker." 

"Trade you," said Gypsy wryly, handing off her club to Maria-Regina, who gratefully accepted. 

The other Beater was a boy Beth didn't recognize; Josef, Andrei and an unknown girl were chosen to be Chasers. The fourteen of them took their places on the pitch while Viktor Krum, astride his now internationally-famous broomstick, collected the Slytherin practice balls. 

"Vone -- two --" He gave a piercing whistle with his thumb and forefinger, and kicked open the ball crate before zooming into the air. All four balls went barreling onto the pitch; Beth lost sight of the Snitch immediately, but Warrington caught the Quaffle and one of the Bludgers rammed Josef in the middle of the forehead before speeding off to menace Aaron Pucey. 

Josef shook his head dizzily and turned to chase after the Quaffle, a strawberry blotch still on his forehead. 

Warrington and Aaron had been practicing together over the summer, and it showed; they passed the Quaffle between each other as if they were two halves of the same person. The Beaters, Bole and Derrick, covered them viciously -- the whole crowd gasped when one of their Bludgers came within half an inch of slamming into the back of Andrei's head. Just as Aaron swooped into scoring range and raised his arm to shoot, Josef came up from nowhere and plucked the Quaffle right out of his hand. 

_"Hey!"_

"T'anks," Josef called over his shoulder. 

Beth looked at Krum, but apparently it wasn't a foul; Josef and his teammates sped towards Bruce's goal with the Slytherins in hot pursuit. Josef tossed the Quaffle over to Andrei, who dove and came up near the right-hand goal. He hurled the Quaffle -- but Bruce was there and caught the ball in both hands before tossing it back into play. The Slytherins cheered. 

"Hey," said Melissa. She nudged Beth, eyes wide. "Look at that." 

She gestured to a cluster of Durmstrang students, sprawled out on the grass. They were cheering too. Beth gaped for a moment; nobody but a Slytherin had ever cheered at a Slytherin's block. Then she started to smile. 

The game went on all morning. One of the Durmstrang students had her eye blackened by a Bludger; somebody conjured some ice and she was back in the game within minutes. Bruce substituted Mervin for Herne and swapped him back out again after the redhead forgot which side of the field was his. 

Josef cheated so blatantly that it was impossible to get mad over it. He grabbed Andrei's club and started smacking the Quaffle with it like a baseball bat. ("It's t'e _American_ rules!" he insisted, with a wink at Beth, when Krum declared it a foul.) 

Krum, although he was not playing, looked like he was having the time of his life as referee. The eyes that could spot a Snitch faster than anyone in the world became mysteriously blind to cobbing. Twice he gave penalties to Slytherin because "Josef vos looking at me funny" and he really seemed to enjoy butting in on both teams' discussions whenever they called a time-out, dispensing mostly useless advice. 

The Snitch was still on the loose by lunchtime, so Bruce and Josef called an extended time-out. They tried to send some first-years in for food, but they wouldn't do it, so a handful of second-years cheerfully volunteered and came back laden with baskets of fruit, sandwiches and flasks of pumpkin juice. After lunch nobody wanted to do anything except sit around and chat. Bruce and Josef had quite a time coming around and persuading each one of their teammates that he didn't need an afternoon nap; but eventually enough people succumbed that Krum got back in the air and blew the whistle for the game to continue. 

Game play was slow for a while; there was a lot more joshing around than scoring. Krum gave a penalty to Durmstrang because Bole and Derrick were hitting each other with their bats instead of the Bludgers. Suddenly Gypsy, who had been hovering several feet below game play, turned and shot upward. Everyone turned to watch her and Draco, half the pitch away, whipped his broom towards her and bolted across the field in the direction that she was headed, scanning the sky desperately. 

Gypsy took one hand off her broom and reached out -- she obviously had her eye on something -- 

_Wham!_ A Bludger slammed into the end of her broomstick and sent her spinning. She clutched at her broomstick with both hands and went crashing into Draco, who had just caught up with her. The two got tangled with each other and began to fall for one terrifying second before they extracted themselves and pulled apart, safely above the ground. Bruce and Josef started in towards them, to see if they were all right, but both of them were anxiously looking around the sky -- then one by one they went back to circling the field. The Snitch had been lost. 

The audience once more focused on the scoring game. One of the Durmstrang Chasers had picked up the Quaffle and was flying determinedly toward the goal posts. Bruce barely moved to meet her. She swung to the left and made the shot ... 

The Quaffle whizzed past Bruce's head and through the center scoring hoop. 

The Durmstrang girl gave a triumphant whoop. Bruce blinked and looked around, an expression of astonishment on his face. "Did I just --" 

His teammates started to laugh. 

"Hey Bletchley, what're you doing up there?" Aaron jeered. "Watching the birds go by?" 

"I got distracted by your ugly mug," Bruce called back, swooping into position. 

Derrick flew past. "Maybe I should start sending the Bludgers to you, keep you awake." He and Bole haw-hawed over that one and butted heads again. 

"I t'ink k'he is doink just fine," said the girl who had just scored, winking smugly at Bruce. 

The Quaffle went to Slytherin and Aaron took off, weaving through Durmstrangers with the Quaffle clutched tight to his chest. _"Pass it!"_ roared Warrington. Aaron held out the Quaffle -- and instead of throwing it to Warrington, he dropped it to where Herne was hovering below. Instantly, Herne took off to the Durmstrang goals, ducked Katya's outstretched arm, and sank a goal. 

Beth and Melissa cheered wildly. Herne went pink to the roots of his curly hair and bashfully retreated to starting position, beaming. His teammates clapped him on the back and took their positions as well. The Quaffle went back into play -- 

The sound of a whistle shrieked out over the field. 

Both teams ground to a halt and all eyes fell on Krum. "Foul," he roared. 

"I vosn't looking at you!" cried Josef, as Bruce was yelling, "_Foul?_ What foul?" 

"Snitchnip." 

Krum held up one arm. Clutched between his thumb and forefinger was the Golden Snitch. 

Everybody started to laugh and Krum grinned bashfully. "It vos too close," he shrugged. He reared back his arm and hurled the Snitch back into play. Then he blew his whistle again and the game resumed. 

With the referee's capture of the Snitch, the game took on a more excited feel -- now that it had been sighted, surely the end was near. Attention shifted from the Chasers (still battling it out one goal at a time) to the Seekers, circling slowly around the pitch, sometimes feinting one way or the other to give a bit of a shock to the other one. 

Nobody scored much for a little while. Despite the fact that Bruce was defending his goals more closely than usual, every time somebody flew near him he had to endure taunting over his lapse of attention earlier in the game. Bole and Derrick turned over their positions to Crabbe and Goyle, who had been looking a little lost with their leader in the air above them. 

Draco, on one end of the pitch, sank into a casual dive. Almost at the same time, Gypsy, on the opposite end of the pitch, let out a cry and shot toward the center line. Draco caught sight of her and shifted into the fastest speed his Nimbus 2001 was capable of. Above them, Andrei had the Quaffle and was trying to feint past Bruce; but now all eyes were on the two Seekers, heading on a collision course to the center of the pitch. 

_"Get out of the way!"_ screamed Gypsy, straining her arm forward. 

_"You first!"_ cried Draco, hand outstretched. 

The spectators were on their feet, cheering and screaming. The Seekers came together like a pair of locomotives. At the very last second, Draco swooped out with his arm and skyrocketed up; Gypsy made a grab at the air and dove away, missing the tail of Draco's broomstick by a hair's breadth. 

Krum flew out towards them excitedly. "Vhich of you has it?" he cried. 

Draco held up his fist. "It's mine!" 

Krum blew the whistle and the audience burst into applause. The teams began to sink to the ground, shaking hands or slapping shoulders. Josef hit the ground and stood up shakily -- he had been on broomstick practically all day. 

"Viktor!" Josef called. "Vhat's t'e score?" 

Viktor Krum landed beside him. "I forget." 

"Durmstrang vins!" Josef crowed, thrusting his fists into the air. 

Draco looked like he was going to say something; but he closed his mouth when he saw that none of his teammates looked like they were going to argue the point. 

Cheerful and tired, the two groups of students collected their things and trudged inside, silhouetted by the wide rays of a setting sun. At dinner, the Durmstrang students intermingled like they had been at Hogwarts forever, and those who didn't know much about Quidditch found themselves at a loss in the dinner conversation. Beth didn't catch up with Bruce until after dinner, when the two groups finally split between the dungeons and the lake. 

"That was a great idea," she told him. "Quidditch hasn't been so much fun since we slaughtered the Gryffindors in second year." 

"And I wasn't playing then," Bruce pointed out. 

Beth couldn't resist a jibe. "It didn't look like you were playing today either," she said, nudging him in the ribs. "Way to pay attention up there." 

Bruce blushed ever so slightly. He took her elbow and pulled her over to the side of the hall. "I saw something up there," he whispered. "Something's going on across the lake. I'm going up to the Astronomy tower tonight to try and get a better look." 

"Oh -- wow!" said Beth. "Let me come along! I'm better at using a telescope anyway," she added. "Just let me go tell Melissa." 

***

Melissa raised her eyebrows. "The Astronomy tower?" 

"Sure, why?" 

"Well, no one goes there just to look at the stars, if you know what I mean --" 

_"Mel!"_

"What?" Melissa shrugged her shoulders. "Everybody knows it." 

"Well, then, if we get caught, that'll be our excuse," said Beth shortly. "Anyway, we're not going to look at the stars, we're going to look at the -- hey, Aaron," she said hastily. Aaron waved and walked on past. Beth let out her breath and shook her head. "You know, sometimes I forget that our whole class isn't in the -- hi, Warrington." 

Warrington grunted (some days it was too much to hope that he could articulate a greeting) and followed Aaron over to a half-played game of Gobstones. 

"You were saying?" said Melissa, with a grin. 

Beth made very sure that they were being ignored before answering. "I was just warning you where I'd be tonight, that's all. In case you wondered." 

"That's nice of you," said Melissa, "but I would have just figured you were out with Rich." She got up to leave, then turned back around and winked. "In the Astronomy tower." 

She left Beth stammering and waltzed out of the common room. 

~~~~~~~~~~   
I wish I had a Potter Stinks badge. I would wear it to bookstores, and to go see the movies, and things. Plus, I could use it as a nightlight. I would also send one to my Gryffindor friend Amy, just for laughs.   
Khuru'sha = okay   
dievushky = girls   
"Katya, ty budeshky n'vratet' Keeper." = roughly, "Katya, you become the Keeper." The Russian word for Keeper is "wratar'", but I figured that wasn't necessary. 


	7. The Astronomy Tower

**Chapter Seven: The Astronomy Tower**

The Astronomy tower was cool and silver, bathed in the silent light of the moon. Beth and Bruce clambered up through the trap-door and carefully closed it again before moving a heavy astrolabe to block the entrance. It would not do to be caught. 

Above, vast eons of stars arched over the turrets of Hogwarts and the dense top of the Forbidden Forest; constellations shimmered and the tiny moons of other planets caught that twinkle and disappeared. Bruce wasn't interested in the heavens. He was training a large brass telescope on the far end of the Hogwarts grounds, past the lake. 

"What part of the lake did you say?" Beth whispered, focusing a smaller, hand-held collapsible telescope on the trees in the Forbidden Forest. She sort of hoped to glimpse a centaur again. 

"Past the far bank. About ... two o'clock." He adjusted the angle of the telescope and squinted through the eyepiece. Bruce had never mastered the art of looking through a telescope with both eyes open. "Maybe three o'clock ...." He twiddled with the focus. "There! Yes, there's something ... maybe about two-thirty for you ..." 

Beth tried to aim her telescope in the direction that Bruce pointed. Though the night was clear, the grounds were pitch-black. She could only make out the eerie glow from the Durmstrang ship's ports, the warm shimmer of the Beauxbatons carriage, and a cozy light from the windows of Hagrid's hut. Other than that, the moon skipped over smaller features, brushing against the lake, glinting from the eyes of some animal, flirting with the branches of the Whomping Willow ... 

A column of fire shattered the sky. 

_"Did you see that!"_ said Bruce excitedly, accidentally bumping his telescope. He hurried to refocus. "Right where I said! I knew there was something there!" 

Beth steadied the telescope against her shaking fingers. "But what _was_ it?" 

A second shriek of fire -- this one tighter, sky-blue in color -- flamed up and died out, leaving the forest even darker than before. 

"I can't tell ..." Bruce muttered, peering harder through his telescope. "If only it would stay lit ..." 

Two of the bonfires flared up at once. In the light that they cast off, Beth could make out a silhouette heaving up between them, dark and sinuous, glinting and enormous, strange and mythical and yet very, very real. 

"It's a _dragon!"_ she blurted. 

"Not just one!" cried Bruce, exhilarated to see such a mighty beast, even from afar. "It's a _bunch_ of dragons! Look, you can see it through mine ..." 

Beth dropped her telescope and hurried over to share an eyepiece with Bruce. He had adjusted it to collect enough light to see by; around the entrancing dragons, she could make out a wooden fence and several scurrying creatures -- people? they looked so small -- darting in between the scaly beasts. Once in a while, a screeching roar would tear over the forest, so wild and fierce that it made Beth's heart leap to hear it. These creatures would fight for their freedom. They would die for it. 

There was a very faint shout from the paddock. One by one, the great monsters swayed and fell to the ground. The thud echoed across the grounds and the quaking gradually subsided. 

Bruce stood up from the telescope. He still looked a little stunned. "Dragons," he breathed. "They were enormous, did you see?" 

"Did you feel it when they _fell?"_ said Beth. "It was like an earthquake ..." 

They looked at each other, both amazed and awed ... then, at the same time, they spoke. 

"We've got to tell Diggory." 

***

It was agreed that only the two of them would approach Diggory about the dragons. 

"What's he going to think," said Bruce at breakfast the next morning, "if he's suddenly flocked by a dozen of us telling him there are dragons across the lake?" 

"That he's being attacked," said Beth. She lathered her bagel with strawberry jam. "And that we're having him on, probably." She caught sight of Diggory and dropped her bagel. "He's leaving! Come on --" 

They caught up with Diggory and some of his friends at the top of the marble staircase. Bruce reached out and caught Diggory's shoulder before he could get too far down the Charms corridor. "Diggory -- can we see you for a second?" 

"You just did," sneered Stebbins. 

Diggory cast him a reproving glance. "Sure," he told Bruce, and the three of them moved to the side of the hall. Diggory put his hands on his hips. "Well?" 

Beth and Bruce exchanged glances; then Beth took a breath. 

"The first task is dragons." 

Diggory looked at them blankly, then a sort of bemused anger settled over his face. "You followed me up here just to feed me a line like that?" 

"It's true," Beth said, almost annoyed. She hadn't expected him to disbelieve them quite so thoroughly. "There are all these dragons across the lake. We're pretty sure you have to kill one for the first task." 

"I have to kill a dragon," repeated Diggory, obviously without believing a word of it. He looked from one to the other. "So why are you telling me?" 

There was a pause. Then Bruce said, "Well, who wants Potter to win?" 

Diggory's face grew even more skeptical. 

"We know about the Transcongus Brew," Beth said suddenly, throwing caution to the wind. "I don't think you realize that you could actually die --" 

Diggory's eyes flickered to Beth's face; then he shook his head. "Nice try, but it's not going to work," he said. "I've got to get to class." He hauled his bookbag onto one shoulder and left. 

There was a long pause. 

"So let him get eaten or fried," said Bruce. "We did our best." 

Beth gazed down the hall to where Diggory had rejoined some of his friends. He had taken no more than two steps when his bag split a seam and his whole stash of books came tumbling into the middle of the emptying hall. Beth turned around in time to see Potter far at the other end of the corridor, stuffing his wand back into his robes. 

"Go on," she said slowly. "I'll be there in a minute. Something's going on ..." 

She walked with Bruce until they were past Diggory, telling his friends in an exasperated tone to warn Flitwick he'd be late. Beth ducked behind a suit of armor (who chuckled hollowly until she elbowed it in the breastplate) and waited until the halls were clear. 

She didn't have to wait long. The silence was broken almost immediately by quick footsteps that stopped around the place Diggory stood. 

"Hi," came Diggory's voice, muffled by the fact that he was bending over to pick up his scattered books. "My bag just split ... brand-new and all ..." 

"Cedric," said Potter, "the first task is dragons." 

It was the last thing Beth expected him to say. _Aha,_ she thought, _someone else has been sneaking around the grounds._ She remembered that Potter had an Invisibility Cloak -- they had found it laying on the floor of a secret passage the previous year -- and mentally vowed to keep an ear open for suspicious noises whenever she went out at night. 

"What?" This was Cedric. He sounded unnerved. 

"Dragons. They've got four, one for each of us, and we've got to get past them," Potter said quickly. 

There was a pause. Then Cedric, slightly panicky: "Are you sure?" 

Potter swore that it was true. 

"But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know --" 

_Don't begrudge a hint,_ Beth thought irritably. Honorable people could put themselves in a lot of danger for no real reason. 

"Never mind ... but I'm not the only one that knows," Potter added. "Fleur and Krum will know by now -- Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too." 

_Karkaroff too?_ thought Beth. Just how many people had been hanging around the paddock that night?!? 

There was a rustling noise (Diggory collecting his books, no doubt) that lengthened into a pause. Then Diggory said one more thing. 

"Why are you telling me?" 

He definitely sounded suspicious -- and it may have been Beth's imagination, but he seemed a little bewildered too. Potter was equally surprised. 

"It's just .... fair, isn't it? We all know now ... we're on an even footing now, aren't we?" 

The silence was broken by clunking, uneven footsteps. Then Professor Moody's gruff voice: "Come with me, Potter. Diggory, off you go." 

Beth waited until she could hear Moody clomping away before she darted out from behind the statue and hurried after Diggory. She caught up with him just outside the Charms classroom. She grabbed his arm and he spun around nervously. His eyes were a little bit fevered, as if the thought of battling a dragon had very suddenly hit home. 

"Believe us now?" she said, before he had a chance to speak. 

"I don't know," he said angrily, and darted into Flitwick's class without another word. 

***

Beth had a free period that morning, so she darted down the library to work on her final project. She was standing amid the biology section, flipping through a book called Magical Vision, when she heard an astonished whisper from the next aisle over. 

_"Dragons?"_

She stopped short. 

"Shhh, yes, yes, I'm sure of it! I don't know how the whole school found out and I didn't, but they all seemed sincere ..." 

It was Cedric Diggory. Beth pulled a book at random and opened it, pressing herself against the shelves, listening as hard as she could. 

"Well -- what are you going to do?" It was a girl's voice, edged in fear, with a certain resolve. 

Diggory sighed. "I don't know yet. All I can think to do is distract it somehow. They're like fortresses, dragons ... takes a dozen guys to knock one out, remember what Kettleburn used to tell us?" 

"Use something you're good at," the girl said urgently. "You've been doing well in Transfiguration." 

Beth could hear the grin in Diggory's voice. "Thanks, Cho." 

So the girl was Cho Chang, the little Ravenclaw Seeker. Beth made a mental note. She might be a way to get advice to Diggory indirectly. 

"D'you want me to get my friends working on it? We've got loads of books in the common room --" 

"No!" Diggory's voice was edgy. "I'm supposed to work it out myself ... thanks, though." 

Cho sighed softly. 

Beth tried hard to look like she was concentrating on the book in her hands. Why wouldn't Diggory just accept someone's help? If _she_ had to fight a dragon, she'd be calling Mr. Scamander, Lycaeon, Dave Gudgeon, and the entire S.S.A. to help her figure out how. Better dishonor than death. 

"Come on," said Diggory, calm and low. "Better death than dishonor." 

And Beth knew what made their two houses so different. 

***

At lunch, Beth told the Society what she had heard in the library. 

"... and then he said, 'Death before dishonor' or something ... I don't think he'd let us help him even if he _did_ believe us ..." Beth stopped talking and waved a hand in front of Richard's face. "Are you listening?" 

Richard was sitting with his head propped on one fist, gazing down the table at Draco and his classmates. He spoke up thoughtfully. It was clear he hadn't heard a word Beth had said. 

"Is it just me, or have the fourth-years been acting weird lately?" 

Beth took a glance down the table. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were huddled together sniggering about something. Pansy was poring over Witch Weekly's makeup section, while Blaise did her best to look interested and Millicent made sour comments about people who painted their faces. Morag chatted gaily with Oren Bergeron, who struggled dutifully to understand his dialect. "They're the fourth-years," said Mervin. "I'd be more worried if they started acting normal." 

"It's a different kind of weird," said Richard. "Like they're all in on a secret." Indeed, now Pansy had abandoned her magazine to lean toward Draco, and they were both grinning in a devilish kind of way. "Remind me to grill Blaise and Morag on it later." 

"They're probably just still proud of themselves for getting the Potter Stinks badges made," Melissa said dismissively. 

"Maybe," said Richard, still watching the fourth-years closely. 

_"Anyway,"_ said Beth loudly, "like I was _saying,_ I don't know if Diggory will let us get him ready. Not that we have that much time ..." 

"What -- oh, right, sorry," said Richard, turning to face her for the first time in the whole conversation. He frowned as the meaning of her words sank in. "Right. We have a day and a half ..." His gaze drifted to the Durmstrangers at the end of the table. "I wonder if Viktor knows?" 

Beth paused. "That's not our business, Richard," she said at last. 

"Still ..." He didn't seem to be looking at Viktor, but rather at Gypsy, as he spoke. "Wouldn't want him to die, either." 

When the bell rang for classes, Rich hurried up to Gypsy with Beth, resigned, in his wake. He pulled the Durmstrang girl aside and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Tell Viktor that the first task is dragons." 

"Oh," said Gypsy. "Yes, thank you, but he already knows." 

Richard blinked. "Really? How?" 

"Karkaroff found out." Gypsy sighed. "Viktor didn't want to know, but now that he does he can't just ignore it. Been in the library all day. We ordered in some books from Durmstrang and I think they've given him a good idea of what to do." She smiled at Richard. "It was nice of you to think of him, though." 

Richard blushed. Beth narrowed her eyes. 

***

"So Krum knows," said Richard, when they met back in the common room after class. "That's good. It leaves us free to work on Diggory. I'll track him down; you tell everyone to start revising their Magical Creatures texts." 

But Diggory was nowhere to be found. 

Viktor Krum continued to stake out his corner of the library as if he were afraid it would be stolen if he left, and Potter was at least showing up for meals, but Cedric Diggory seemed to have dropped out of Hogwarts entirely. He skipped all his Monday afternoon classes, and didn't come down to dinner that night. 

"If I didn't have to take finals, I'd be skipping class too," said Mervin gloomily. 

"And I wouldn't be doing this stupid final project," said Beth. She had about had it with researching eyeballs and was ready to scrap the whole thing. "I'm going to the library -- anybody want to come along?" 

"Are you crazy?" laughed Aaron Pucey. 

"I will be soon," Beth sighed, and she headed off to study. 

Not too many students were studying that evening, and by closing time the library was empty except for Beth, Viktor Krum, and a pair of Ravenclaws fervently copying a manuscript in ancient Babylonian symbols. At precisely nine o'clock, Madame Pince approached the Ravenclaws and ordered them to leave. They loaded their arms with scrolls and scurried out, muttering to each other in some other language that Beth couldn't even identify. 

Madame Pince came up to Beth next. "Out you go," she said crisply. "These books will still be here in the morning." 

Beth stretched and yawned. "Darn." She held up Light, Liberty and the Pursuit of Sight. "Can I just have a couple more minutes with this?" 

"Oh, very well," sighed Madame Pince. "I'll go extract Mr. Krum -- but you must be gone by then. I have cataloguing to do." She cracked the ghost of a smile. "Mr. Krum has been in the Restricted Section all day. Goodness knows what that boy is after -- I shouldn't imagine there's much in the way of the Dark Arts here that Igor Karkaroff has not already taught them." She turned toward Krum's table -- and stopped. "Now where _is_ that boy?" 

Krum's things were still spread out across the table, but the student himself had disappeared. Madame Pince started off toward the Restricted Section to hunt him down. At the same time, Gypsy Arendt appeared in the doorway and headed toward Krum's table. She paused at the sight of Viktor's scattered textbooks. "Viktor?" 

Viktor emerged from behind one of the shelves, holding what appeared to be the school copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages._ Gypsy glanced at the book; Viktor shrugged guiltily and set it down on a library cart. 

"Pack up your things," said Gypsy. "You need to get back on the ship. Karkaroff wants you to get a good night's sleep --" 

Viktor made a noise of contempt. 

Gypsy sighed. 

Viktor looked out the window. His low voice carried quite clearly across the deserted library. "I don't vant to do it." 

"Don't be worried," said Gypsy kindly. "No dragon can be as tough as Ireland National Side." 

"I'm not vorried," said Krum heatedly, "I don't vant to be here! I vish I was vith the Vultures, I _miss_ Kvidditch, my teammates and my family --" He slumped into a chair dejectedly. "I vish the summer vould haff never ended." 

Beth started to put away her books, very slowly and quietly. The library was turning into a pretty great place to eavesdrop. She didn't want to leave just yet. 

Gypsy and Viktor spoke in low undertones for a few seconds; then Viktor raised his voice again. 

"It's _vorthless,_ he just vanted us to do it for his own glory --" 

"It's for Durmstrang. The honor of the school." 

Viktor muttered something inaudible. 

"Yes, Karkaroff will get some of the credit," Gypsy said patiently. "You'll have to live with that. But five hundred years from now, when the Triwizard Cup is still on display, it won't say that the Tournament was won under Karkaroff." She paused. "It will say that it was won by Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Academy. No one will know Karkaroff was there." 

Viktor spoke up then, very clearly, very curt. 

"I vish he vasn't." 

~~~~~~~~   
My only notes have to do with reader reviews.   
First: Twenty points and a rousing round of applause to Moria, who answered the troll-hag-and-leprechaun joke challenge with something that was _actually funny_. Check it out in the reviews, and go drop her a line if you like it too.   
Netrat sent in nitpicks. I _love_ nitpicks. The answers are:   
a) Luke didn't actually graduate from Hogwarts, but you can't lose your S.S.A. membership, so he's still in the club -- and since he's essentially a grownup, that puts him in the alumni chapter. I use the word "alumnus" loosely, to mean "somebody who used to be at Hogwarts" -- like Hagrid, or like this football player who went to my school, left without a degree to play pro, and still got the football field named after him the next homecoming.   
b) Mr. Weasley went to Azkaban once, so I assume it's possible. (You have a very very good point, though ...) Also, Slytherins tend to be pureblood and powerful and/or wealthy -- there's noplace you can't get with enough Galleons.   
c) The name Evan Rosier is Canon. (pg 589, GoF)   
d) The date over the names on the wall of the crypt is their year of induction. I just stort of guesstimated an induction date for Wilkes and Rosier. By your calculations, they would've been inducted in 1972, not far from my guess of 1969. Let's call that even until JKR gives us more exact numbers. :-)   
Two notes to Springrain. First, don't think I'm sitting here cranking out 10,000 words a night -- I'm not Stephen King! The story's already finished. It's just taken this long to edit, format and post. Second, I think they did explain about the Transcongus Brew to Gypsy: "Quickly [Richard] described the situation" keeps all you people from having to hear about it again. Now get to work on your finals! You can come back and read this anytime until June 20th at midnight! 


	8. The First Task

**Chapter Eight: The First Task**

The first thing that Beth noticed on the morning of the first task was that Cedric Diggory hadn't come to breakfast. (Well, the _very_ first thing was that Antigone had left hair all over the sink, but that ranked about a two on Beth's Surprising Events scale.) The next thing she noticed was that Viktor Krum hadn't either. She asked his classmates about his absence. 

"Our Headmaster," said Gypsy, in a tone between amusement and scorn, "is cooking him breakfast." 

"Oh," said Melissa, faintly surprised. "For luck, I suppose?" 

Gypsy laughed derisively. "Of course not. He was afraid one of you was going to slip something in Viktor's oatmeal." 

"Wow, I guess he really does know all about Slytherins," Bruce said brightly. 

"More than he knows about us," one of the Durmstrangers said, a little bitterly. There were mumbles of agreement from her classmates. 

It was Josef Poliakoff who interrupted cheerfully. "T'ank goodness," he said, ruffling Andrei's hair and stealing some ham from Maria-Regina's plate. "If he knew any more, ve vould all be expelled!" 

His classmates laughed. "You first," Gypsy said, smiling. 

Josef shrugged. "I vould make my vay as a traveling tinker," he declared, and stood up and broke into a foreign song, accompanied only by the clapping hands of his classmates, and interrupted only by the chiming of the bell for classes. Then he took his bows until his classmates had to wrestle him from the Entrance Hall. 

***

The atmosphere in the school was one of extreme excitement. There were a lot of Support Cedric Diggory badges in the halls that day. Beth was torn between the thrill of the competition and the anticipation of watching Diggory get killed by a fire-breathing dragon. The chance of his death put something of a damper on all the fun. 

By lunch, the excited tension had risen to a buzz that practically vibrated in the air. Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory didn't show up for lunch either, but Potter did; and it wasn't long before Professor McGonagall had hurried over to him and ushered him out of the Great Hall, to the excitement of all. 

Barely fifteen minutes after that, the heads of House were ushering their students out the door. Professor Snape summoned his students forward with no more than a jerk of his head, but that didn't keep the Slytherins from laughing and joking along with their peers. 

"I wonder what the first task is!" Aaron chattered excitedly. 

"I wonder," said Beth weakly. 

They followed the crowd across the grounds and past the lake. An enormous paddock had been set up, and bleachers as high as a building stood along one side of it; another side held a high stand where several of the judges already sat. Beth and Melissa sat among a cluster of their sixth-year friends. From their spot in the stands Beth could make out the three headmasters and Mr. Crouch, of the Ministry of Magic. A large megaphone was set up in front of the central seat. It did not contain Mr. Bagman, but it was not empty. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice crowed behind the megaphone. "Friends, students, visitors and guests! Welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!" 

It was an excruciatingly familiar voice. Mouths agape, Beth and her friends craned their necks to see past the megaphone, Melissa raising her new Omnioculars to her eyes. 

"No matter what you are about to see, _stay in your seats!_ The situation is under control! I've been asked to deliver this message by the incomparable Professor McGonagall, teacher of Transfiguration and beautiful head of Gryff--" 

_"Jordan!"_

"Ha ha, sorry Professor, couldn't resist!" 

Scrabbling behind the megaphone. "... just tell them about the ..." 

"... all right, Professor ... Ahem ... LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, what you are about to see will shock and astound you! One by one, your champions --" He paused to let the crowd roar. "-- your champions will attempt to get past a _full-grown female dragon_ to steal a golden egg from her nest!" 

The reaction was incredible. The Society and, presumably, the contestants had been nothing but worried when they found out about the dragons ... but the audience around the paddock was thrilled. They clapped and stomped and generally made a ruckus of excitement until a gate was opened at the other end of the paddock and a pair of men entered, walking backward, wands pointed toward something out of the audience's view. They were followed by another two men who bore between them a nest the size of a bathtub, full of pale blue eggs. Each one was at least eight inches long, shimmering with silver flecks. They placed the eggs on the ground not far from the paddock fence and hurried over to the announcer's booth, where they had a hurried conversation with Lee Jordan. The Gryffindor straightened and once more raised the megaphone to his lips. 

"The Swedish Short-Snout!" 

And with that, the head of a dragon floated through the paddock fence. 

Its huge eyes were shut, but flickering. It did indeed have a short snout, and blue-gray skin that might have been prettier on a less lethal beast. Foot by foot, the unconscious dragon bobbed into the paddock, supported by the concentration of a dozen dragon-handlers. The audience around Beth shuffled excitedly, whispering as if uncertain whether their commotion could rouse the creature. Finally the entire dragon was inside; the dragon-keepers lowered it to the ground, convened behind it, all cried "Ennervate!" at the top of their lungs, and ran like the devil. 

The dragon snorted groggily and struggled to her feet, dizzily overlooking the stands of observers. Several first-years screamed. The dragon spotted her nest and staggered over to it, rolling some of the eggs with her snout, checking for cracks, perhaps sniffing for the scent of man. She seemed unaware that one of her eggs was pure gold. Hissing a little as she came fully alert, she began to pace in front of the nest, catlike, examining the surroundings and tasting for danger to her unborn young. 

"Thank you so much, Mr. Jordan! Just had a little business to tend to with the contestants --" Ludo Bagman's jovial voice boomed out over the paddock. 

"Thank goodness," said Mervin. "I was worried they'd let Jordan do the whole thing." 

"Now, I think we're ready to get started -- on my whistle, the first contestant will come out and face his dragon -- and that contestant is -- Cedric Diggory!" Mr. Bagman raised a whistle to his lips and let out a piercing screech. 

"He's first?" cried Melissa, craning her neck to see where Diggory would come from. "Oh no no no, that's not good, the dragon'll be fresh and he won't have any chance to see what the others have done --" 

"Potter thought there was one for each," Beth said, on the edge of her seat, "and I don't think they get to watch each other -- oh _here he is!"_

Cedric Diggory had stepped from the tent and through the paddock gate -- striding, Beth thought, as if he had done this before, wand held like a sword. The sun glinted on his dark hair and gave him a sudden, gut-wrenching glow. No matter how much she would hate him in the past or the future, at this moment Beth found him as beautiful as the sea. 

The crowd roared and Diggory looked up at them for the first time, hand over his eyes as if scanning for someone. He must have found him (or her, Beth thought, with a glance at Cho Chang), because he turned his attention fully on the dragon and the surrounding area. 

The Short-Snout, distracted by the sudden uproar of the crowd, had not yet noticed Diggory's presence. Diggory seemed to know it. He moved slowly, edging around the dragon's range of vision. When he was no more than thirty yards away, he raised his wand ... 

... and pointed it at the ground. 

"What is he doing!?!" shrieked Melissa, fists in her hair. "Is he going to grow a plant or something?" 

Far below them, Diggory's mouth began to move silently. 

The dragon whipped its head in his direction. 

Some of the audience screamed. Diggory met its eyes and kept right on muttering at the ground. Beth leaned forward to see what was going on ... sure enough, something was happening down on the ground. Diggory was growing not a plant, but a rock ... it blossomed like a weird sandy fungus until it stood two feet around, silently attentive near Diggory's feet. 

The eyes of the dragon narrowed. She growled warningly ... Diggory did not move. He seemed to hope that if he didn't move, he couldn't be seen. That strategy didn't seem to be working. The dragon shuffled. Then she reared back her head and spat a column of fire at Cedric Diggory. 

It was a twenty-foot, crystal-blue flame, with bright orange flickers at the end, entrancing and deadly. Diggory seemed frozen with fear -- finally, he staggered and darted away, just out of reach of the flame. 

"Ooh, narrow miss there, very narrow!" cried Ludo Bagman. Beth could hear the grin in his voice. "Can't be too many more of those --" Sure enough, the dragon-keepers surrounding the paddock were tense and ready, eyes fixed on the Short-Snout. 

Melissa had put down her Omnioculars and instead had her eyes scrunched shut. "Did he die?" 

"No, he's all right," said Beth, picking up the Omnioculars and training them on Diggory. He and the dragon were now entailed in a weird circling dance: Diggory with both arms outstretched, wand clutched tight, the Short-Snout huffing steam and never taking her eyes from the small creature that had dared intrude on her territory. The dragon snapped sometimes, or flicked her tail or swiped a claw. Diggory did not make a single aggressive move. 

Ludo Bagman sounded both astonished and delighted. "Diggory seems to be making no attempt to attack the dragon! He's taking risks, this one!" 

All of Diggory's Hufflepuff instincts were showing through: he refused to give up on his project. He shot another bolt of magic at the boulder, and it turned dark brown and began to wiggle. "Is he dead yet?" cried Melissa, burying her head in the folds of her cloak. 

The Short-Snout spat out another long bolt of sky-blue flame and Diggory threw himself to one side to avoid being crisped. 

"Not ... quite ..." said Beth through clenched teeth, as Diggory staggered to his feet, looking a bit shaken. 

The Hufflepuff moved carefully now. He edged toward the eggs slowly as the mountainous dragon paced protectively in front of them. Her scales glinted in the sunlight; Diggory's forehead was a sheen of sweat. The dragon reared back again -- and just as she let out a blast of fire, Diggory pointed his wand at her and shouted an incantation. 

The flame came within a foot of Diggory's face and stopped, billowing out to either side. The dragon stopped, dismayed, and tried again. Her flame did no better this time. 

Ludo Bagman was overjoyed. 

"It's a -- I don't believe it -- he's using a flame-shield, incredible bit of magic! The old girl won't be happy about that!" 

Mr. Bagman was not exaggerating. The dragon closed her mouth, bewildered that her prey was still intact, shaking her head back and forth. This was all the pause Diggory needed. He turned and focused his full attention on the thing that he had created, roaring out the incantation ... the boulder twisted and morphed ... and evolved into a black Labrador, which took one look at the dragon, yelped in terror, and took off across the paddock. 

The Short-Snout roared with fury and trundled after the dog. As soon as its attention had turned, Diggory bolted toward the nest of eggs that the dragon had left behind. The crowd was roaring -- Ludo Bagman was exulting -- the Labrador panted like a greyhound with the dragon on its heels and Diggory narrowed the distance to the nest of eggs ... 

"What's happening?" Melissa wailed. "Is he going to die?" 

"No!" shouted Beth, rising from her seat. _"I think he's going to make it!"_

Twenty yards ... fifteen yards ... The noise of the crowd welled louder as Diggory reached out a hand for the golden egg that was no more than a few feet from his grasp ... 

The dragon suddenly let out a smoky roar of anguish and turned on its heel. The Labrador frantically squeezed under the paddock fence and took off into the Forbidden Forest. "The dog escapes and the dragon is furious!" crowed Ludo Bagman. "That Transfiguration was a clever move -- pity it didn't work!" 

The Swedish Short-Snout trundled after Diggory even as the boy closed in on the eggs. It shot out one long lick of blue flame, grazing the side of Diggory's head -- the Hufflepuff roared in pain -- he threw himself at the nest, snatched the golden egg and took off down the paddock with his prize tucked under one arm and smoke streaming from his hair. 

"He has the golden egg!" Ludo Bagman cried. "Somebody, throw some water on that boy!" 

He blew his whistle again. At the sound, a dozen dragon-keepers leapt forward and began to pacify the raving creature, while another two caught Diggory and put out the fire. Drenched and charred, Diggory turned back to watch the Short-Snout collapse under the force of the Stupefication spells. 

"An excellent show of sportsmanship!" Ludo Bagman was shouting, as the dragon-keepers took away the stunned beast and her eggs. "Very good indeed! And now the marks from the judges!" 

Beth didn't watch the scores as they sprung from the wands of the judges -- Diggory's marks weren't important, just his life. At the far end of the paddock, Diggory was being hustled away by one of the dragon keepers. He was met at the gate by Madame Pomfrey, the infirmary witch, and ushered into a tent. 

"I'm going to go down and see Diggory," Beth said suddenly. "Want to come?" 

Very slowly, Melissa unscrunched her eyes. "How bad is it?" she asked warily. 

"He'll live," said Beth shortly. She stood up and started to pick her way down the bleachers. Melissa gathered her abandoned Omnioculars and hastily followed. 

They were not welcomed at the entrance to the tent. 

"Absolutely not!" said Madame Pomfrey, jerking the flap of the tent closed. "No visitors until the paste begins to work! Go back to the stands -- I'm sure there will be plenty more injuries for everyone to cheer at!" 

She sounded extremely bitter. Beth and Melissa backed away and circled around the tent. 

"He's going to have to trust us now," Melissa said. "Now we've been proven right." 

Beth bit her lip thoughtfully. "I hope he trusts our motives." Through the thin fabric of the tent they could see the shape of Diggory, sitting hunched on the end of what seemed to be one of the hospital cots. 

"I say! If it isn't the famous Beth Parson!" 

They both turned at the sound of the familiar voice. A man with a long scar across one eye was striding towards them, beaming. 

"Dave!" said Beth happily. "Mel, this is Dave Gudgeon, he got us the map of the Forbidden Forest, remember? This is Melissa Ollivander. She's in the Society too." Melissa curtseyed. "What are you doing here?" 

"On the job," Dave grinned. "I was hoping to surprise you afterward, but you've beat me to it. Well -- d'you want to see them up close?" 

"See what?" said Beth, although she had a hunch. 

"The dragons, of course!" said Dave cheerfully. 

He led them around the back of the stands (which roared with cheers and gasps; apparently Fleur Delacour was taking her time about getting the egg) and behind the judges' table. A second broad paddock had been constructed; twenty or so dragon workers kept watch over three of the enormous creatures, all of which appeared to be Stunned. Dave brought them to the edge of the fence. The Swedish Short-Snout was a scant ten feet away, shallow trails of steam coming from her nostrils. Even in sleep she curled protectively around her nest of eggs. 

"Come on!" said Dave Gudgeon, and he leapt over the paddock fence. 

Beth and Melissa exchanged horrified, excited looks, and scrambled after him. 

The sheer size of the dragon was overwhelming from up close. Lying down, she was taller than even Dave. Astonishingly, the man got down on his haunches right beside the gently snoring creature. "She's safe," he said in a hushed voice. He reached out and put a hand on her blue-scaled skin. 

Fascinated, Beth crept closer. She knelt beside Dave and cautiously raised a hand to the dragon's flank. The skin was dry, not slick as it appeared, and the gorgeous sky-blue scales were stubbly against her fingers. Beth could feel the rise and fall of the dragon's lungs, slow under the magical sleep. Its flesh was pleasantly cool. 

"She's beautiful," whispered Melissa. 

"I know," said Dave, just as softly. He ran a calloused hand across the Short-Snout's flank. "You should see her in flight. She's poetry." 

The words were corny, but his voice was absolutely sincere. 

"Oy! You!" 

Beth looked over her shoulder. A wizard was hurrying toward them from across the paddock. "Are we going to get you in trouble?" she asked quickly. 

"No worse than usual. Listen, I wanted to tell you -- there's a message from the Society." Dave spoke quickly as the wizard approached. "Rothbard's very interested to know how Potter's name got in the Goblet of Fire. He could've done it himself, but Rothbard's suspecting that someone else was involved. He wants to know who." 

"We're sort of focusing on Diggory," Beth whispered back, "but I'll mention it to Rich." 

The wizard had reached them. "_Davey!_ What in the _world_ are you doing?" 

"Just showing off the Swede to a couple of friends," Dave said easily, standing up and brushing dust from his trousers. 

The wizard ran both hands through his bright red hair. "She's _dangerous,_ for heavens' sake! There shouldn't be students anywhere near here --" 

"I watched ten wizards Stupefy her, Charlie," said Dave, patting the wizard on one shoulder. "She's out for the count. Don't worry, chap." 

"Just get them out of here," said Charlie, frustrated. "I wouldn't be bringing _my_ little sister back here, that's for sure." 

"As if you hadn't got siblings to spare," Dave winked. 

The dragon-keeper threw up his hands. Dave grinned devilishly at the girls and the three of them hurried out of the paddock just as a long scarlet dragon was levitated in and a bright green one was hoisted out. 

They strolled back to the stands. The crowd was now raising a ruckus: Beth could tell from the commentary that Viktor Krum had just begun his turn at the dragons. They stopped behind the bleachers. 

"I didn't know you were a dragon keeper," said Beth. 

Dave shrugged. "Sometimes. On to bigger and better thrills, eh?" He laughed. "Now get on up there -- don't want you to miss the rest of the task." 

"It was good to see you," said Beth warmly. "If you see Luke, tell him hi." 

Dave saluted. Beth beamed as she followed Melissa into the stands and back to their old spots with their class. It was almost as if she had lucked into not one big brother, but two. 

"Oh, good!" cried Melissa, when they were settled. "It's Viktor! How exciting." 

Beth snickered. "Maybe this time you can actually _watch_ it." 

Melissa sneered. They settled in to watch the last two champions, satisfied that Diggory was alive and that Potter couldn't possibly match Viktor's score. 

***

That night in the common room there was great debate over which of the Champions had actually deserved to win. 

"For me, it was Diggory," said Aaron cheerfully. "He got injured and all, but that's part of the fun, isn't it?" 

Warrington boomed with laughter. 

"Honestly," said Melissa, tossing her hair, "I can't believe that Fleur Delacour didn't get more points. She didn't injure herself, and none of the eggs were hurt." 

"You're only supporting her because she's the only female Champion, aren't you?" said Aaron, winking. 

Melissa sniffed and refused to answer. 

Beth scratched her poison ivy absently. "I hate to say it," she said, "and I'm going to regret this, and you're going to kill me, but -- if it had been anyone else but Potter -- I think the broomstick trick was the coolest." 

As expected, she got a great deal of grief from her classmates over this. 

Bruce threw back his head and laughed. "Okay, it was cool and all," he said, eyes shining, "but if Potter's so smart, why didn't he just Accio the _egg?"_

There was a moment as the irony sank in. Then the sixth-years filled the common room with laughter. 

***

By ten thirty the common room had emptied out, leaving the S.S.A. members to sneak out to the Vase Room undetected. 

"Thank goodness we're not Gryffindors," said Richard. "I expect they'll be up celebrating all night." He was in a very good mood, and considered Diggory's survival almost a personal triumph. 

"Thank goodness," echoed Bruce. "Look who we'd have to live with!" 

"Just please be quick, Richard," said Gypsy. "I'm expected back on the ship to celebrate with my own Champion tonight." 

"It'll be short," said Richard happily. "Our first mission was a complete success. We don't have anything to worry about." 

They reached the Vase Room without running into Filch and all thirteen of them crowded inside. Beth had seated herself behind the Ledger's stand before she noticed that the old, dusty book was no longer there. 

She leaned over towards Richard. "Hey Rich -- what did you do with the Ledger?" 

He looked up at her quizzically. "Nothing, why?" 

"Well, it's --" She gestured to the empty stand. "It's not here." 

Richard's brow creased. "Melissa -- did you move the Ledger." 

"No," said Melissa. "Why?" 

Richard didn't answer. "Gypsy? Have you borrowed the Ledger?" 

A crowd was starting to gather at the front of the room. "What would I do that for?" said Gypsy. "I can read it right here." 

"Apparently," said Richard, who was by now very pale in the face, "you can't." 

They asked every member; they looked on every shelf and inside every cauldron. Not a scrap of paper nor a drop of ink turned up in the entire length of the Vase Room. 

The Ledger was gone. 

***

Richard paced back and forth at the front of the empty podium, all joviality completely gone. He looked oddly regal -- like a general, Beth thought, who's just realized he has lost his war. The members watched him, half expectant, half afraid. Richard had faced failure in a lot of different ways, Beth realized, but he'd never been attacked in something as close to home as the Vase Room. 

Finally he stopped pacing and faced them. "Well," he said slowly. "There it is. One of us is lying or there's somebody out there who knows our password. Worse, they must know how valuable the Ledger is, or they would've gone for the more expensive-looking stuff." 

"Why don't we just change the password?" Oren suggested. 

"Because I don't know how they set it in the first place." Richard ran his hands through his hair. "The only one who'd know is Riddle, he's in no shape to tell us, or it might have been recorded in the Ledger -- _which we no longer have._" 

Melissa spoke up, her voice calm and reasonable. "What _do_ we still have?" 

Richard took a deep breath. "Our rings. There are the maps of the castle and grounds on the wall. They didn't take our Special Awards -- much good may they do us -- or any of the vases." 

"How nice of them," said Mervin. 

Melissa gave him a dirty look. "I don't understand," she said, stretching out on the low divan. "There's only one way in -- no windows or anything. You can't even see the door unless you know the password. And nobody's ever been in here but the Society --" 

"Not true." 

Evan Wilkes had spoken up from the corner. Richard looked at him in surprise. "No?" 

"I should know. I brought her here." 

"You --" Richard's jaw dropped. "Why would you -- how could you -- who was it --" He broke off, at a loss for words. _"Her?"_

"You remember," said Evan coolly. "Red hair, first-year, under a spell ..." 

The light went on behind Richard's eyes. When he spoke, it was in a whisper, surprised but laden with sudden understanding. 

_"Ginny Weasley."_


	9. Planning and Partnering

**Chapter Nine: Plotting and Partnering**

Richard was beside himself over the loss of the Ledger. At breakfast the next day, Bruce had to physically withhold him from charging up to Ginny Weasley and demanding that she return it. 

"You can't just go asking her about it!" Bruce barked, wrestling Richard away from the Gryffindor table. "What're you going to do, go up and say, 'Hi, we lost our book, the Dark Lord enchanted it and we think you stole it, want to give it back?'" 

"I'll charm it out of her," Richard grunted, struggling to get past Bruce's grip. Beth thought that with the look on his face he was going to have a job charming anything out of anybody. 

Melissa stepped up in front of him. "Stop it, Rich," she said firmly. "We need a plan." 

That seemed to be the trick. At the sound of the word "plan", Richard's eyes came back into focus and he took a few deep breaths. "Right. Plan." He stopped struggling and Bruce let him go, but warily. "What do you have in mind?" 

"Well," said Melissa, with a glance back at the table, "the first thing to remember is that we have two spies already in position." 

***

"A real mission?" said Oren excitedly. 

Richard did not even hear him. "You've got double Potions and Magical Creatures together, right? What about your electives?" 

"I have Arithmancy," said Oren, "and Audra's in Ancient Runes. She in class with you, Aud?" 

Audra shook her head. Her white hair fluttered around her shoulders. 

"Then she must be in Divination," Oren deduced. "Figures." 

"Divination," said Audra softly, "is a waste of time." 

There was a pause. Even Oren looked surprised that she had actually spoken. "Er -- exactly," he said. "Tell you what," he said to Richard, who was looking disappointed, "we'll both keep our ears tuned -- we have class with _her_ classmates, you know, and they might mention if she's acting suspicious or guilty or suddenly spending all her time reading some enormous dusty book." 

"Assuming," said Richard, a little tiredly, "that they're not all in it together." 

***

Nothing could shake Richard from his conviction. He even started stealing Beth's copy of the Daily Prophet to see if anybody was trying to sell the Ledger in the classified ads. "I _really_ don't think --" said Beth angrily, the fifth or sixth time he asked for it, but Rich made such an effective puppy-dog face that she handed him that section anyway. 

Blaise, too, was starting to show an unusual interest in the Daily Prophet. A week after the first task, she slid up to Beth at the breakfast table and asked, "Is there anything by Rita Skeeter in there?" 

"Uh ... I dunno," said Beth. "Let me check." She flipped through the pages of the Prophet. "Here's something -- it's about the Tournament." 

"Let me see!" said Blaise eagerly. Beth spread the paper out on the table and they both bent over it to read. 

**

First Triwizard Task Ends in Tie;   
Judges' Honesty In Doubt

**

  
                While the first task of the Triwizard Tournament was a   
            thrilling display of man vs. dragon, _writes Rita Skeeter, special reporter,_   
            the final scores of the judges were less widely appreciated.   
                At the end of the first task, Hogwarts Champion Harry Potter   
            found himself tied for first place with Durmstrang Champion Victor   
            Krum. Notably, the Boy Who Lived was prevented from an uncontested   
            win by a low score from Krum's own Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.   
                "I scored as I saw fit," said an evasive Karkaroff only moments   
            after the end of the task. "Now go away, you wretched woman."   
                Although the youngest Champion declined to comment to   
            the Daily Prophet, his angry demeanor showed clearly enough how he   
            felt about the fairness of the scoring.   
                "I shouldn't wonder that he'd be upset about it all," says   
            classmate Pansy Parkinson. "He's so very used to being made a   
            fuss over. Sharing the honor with Victor Krum must be dreadfully hard   
            for him."   
                Hard or not, Potter has already been forced to learn to share   
            honor in this tournament, this time with a second Hogwarts Champion,   
            Cedric Diggery. 

As soon as she was finished reading, Blaise let out a cry of frustration. 

Beth looked over at her in surprise. "What?" 

"It's all wrong!" Blaise slumped moodily back into her seat. "Makes it sound like Potter's been cheated out of something." 

"Technically," said Beth, rolling up the newspaper and passing it to Bruce, "he was." 

Blaise's pout deepened. "It's supposed to make him look bad." 

"They like him in there," said Beth lightly. She across the table for an apricot. "Remember right at the beginning of the tournament, when they had that whole enormous article about him?" 

Blaise gave a little smile. "Yeah. That was pretty good, that bit about him still crying over his parents." 

"Bruce still quotes it sometimes," said Beth. 

"Yeah. Draco too." Blaise sighed. "Oh well ... there's always next time. Let me take this and show Pansy, will you?" 

"Sure," said Beth. Blaise took the paper and was gone before Beth thought to wonder what "next time" meant. 

***

The Ledger was first in the minds of the S.S.A., but the rest of the school had a new fixation: Dragons. After the first task, most of the school was suddenly clamoring to know more about them; no fewer than eight of Beth's Career Counseling classmates, from all different houses, expressed a sudden and unshakable desire to become dragon-keepers. Madame Pince went right on teaching them about the branches of the Ministry, but Hagrid took the cue and began his sixth-years on a curriculum of dragon care. Although every one of them (except perhaps Warrington or Antigone) could by this point recite the twelve uses for dragon's blood in their sleep, Hagrid's class dealt with what to do with the living thing, instead of how to use its parts once it was dead. 

The dragons themselves had been returned to wherever they had come from. All that was left was a few loose scales, a whole acre of scorched grass, and ... 

"Dung," said Hagrid proudly. 

The entire class recoiled, except for the Weasley twins, who leaned forward excitedly. "Cool! Can we have a bit, Hagrid?" 

"Yeah, Percy would really love to get some in his in-box ... again ..." Both of the twins sniggered. 

"If you want some dragon dung, why don't you just pull some out of your heads?" Mervin muttered, just loud enough to be heard by those for whom it was intended. Hagrid, of course, was not among them. 

"Mighty useful, dragon dung," Hagrid went on happily, while the twins glared at Mervin. "Keeps out Jarveys. Makes yer magical herbs stronger an' grows 'em faster, too. Professor Sprout wants the whole lot of it." 

There was a pause. 

"I hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting," said Antigone coldly. 

Even a man ten feet tall could not help but quake under the well-practiced glare of Antigone von Dervish. "Er ... yes. Yes I am," said Hagrid staunchly. "An' you'll do it, too, von Dervish -- or it's failing marks fer the day." 

He reached behind him and produced two handfuls of shovels. 

The Slytherins, after a swift conference, unanimously decided to take the failing grade and let the Gryffindors do all the dung-picking themselves. Instead they sat around and gossiped, occasionally pausing to loudly speculate on what the dragons had previously eaten or pointedly ignore comments from the Gryffindors. It was a very pleasant class, despite the bottom marks, and at the end of the hour they trooped back inside feeling good about themselves. 

"Load of spoiled brats," said Alicia Spinnet, as they climbed up the stone steps to the Entrance Hall. 

"Yeah," grinned Aaron, "spoiled brats who don't smell like a barn." 

A whole flock of students was collected around the announcement board in the Entrance Hall. The Slytherins and Gryffindors temporarily put aside their differences and crowded in together to see what the excitement was about. 

"Just wait until he sees my dress, it's the cutest --" 

"Jennie? Why would I ask _her?"_

"Ugh, I bet we all have to learn the minuet or something ..." 

The Weasley twins put their gregariousness to good use and shoved their way forward to pluck the parchment from the board. "Here's your public service announcement for the day," one of them called over the crowd, "brought to you by Fred and George Weasley, incomparable pranksters, brilliant inventors, and lovable --" 

"Blabbermouths?" called Angelina Johnson. 

Everyone laughed. 

"That most of all," one of the twins grinned back. "It says: 'The traditional Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball will be held in the Great Hall from eight o'clock to midnight on Christmas Day, the twenty-fifth of December.' Really, is that when they're having it this year?" 

"Go on, George," Lee Jordan ordered, amid the overwhelming groans. 

The other twin took over. "'All Hogwarts students in the fourth year and above' --" (there were disappointed noises from the crowd) "-- 'are invited to attend and mingle with their professors and students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Dinner will be provided' -- oh, good -- 'and dancing and appetizers will follow. Dress will be formal. See your head of house for more information or questions.'" The Weasley sighed wistfully and tacked the parchment back up to the board. "D'you think if I ask Professor McGonagall she'll really say yes?" 

"How could she resist?" said his brother. "You handsome devil." 

Laughing and chattering, the crowd dispersed into the Great Hall. Melissa had gotten that love-induced sheen in her eyes; she was bubbling over with "I'm going with Galen" and "I'm sure Pansy will be going with Draco" and "I wonder if we can get anyone to go with Bruce?" 

Beth was less enthusiastic. "Not this 'going-with' stuff again!" she griped, half worried and half annoyed. "It'll be just like all those Hogsmeade trips last year. No one's going to ask me, and I'll end up taking Colin Creevey or somebody." 

"Oh, don't _worry_ about it, Beth," Melissa said, making herself a corned-beef sandwich. She piled on some lettuce and a tomato. "Richard's going to ask you to the Yule Ball." 

Beth's jaw dropped. "What?" 

Melissa looked surprised at her friend's own astonishment. "He likes you, Beth. Everybody knows it." 

"You ... heard him say that?" 

"Well, no ..." Melissa waved her hand in the air as if that wasn't important. "But he'll ask you. Who else would he go with?" 

She had a point. Although Richard had his share of friends in the seventh year, Beth had rarely seen him with girls outside of the S.S.A. Still, it was never safe to get overexcited. 

"Beth, can I see you for a minute?" 

Richard's voice above them made them both jump. Turning bright crimson, Beth stood up too hastily and stammered, "All right." 

She followed Richard around the table until they stood a little apart from the rest of the Great Hall. _Stay calm,_ she told herself, as her chest pounded uncomfortably. 

Richard leaned close and lowered his voice a little. "Can you do me a favor?" 

"Sure. Anything." _Parson, you sound like a moron. Stay calm._

"Bring a notebook to the meeting tonight, will you? It may not be enchanted like the Ledger, but we still need a place to write stuff." 

Beth looked at him blankly for a minute. "Oh. All right." Her blush, if possible, deepened. 

Richard nodded as if satisfied. "Thanks. Secretary's duty, you know." He patted her on the shoulder and strode off to the prefects' table. 

She watched him go. Then she returned to her seat, plunked down by an excited-looking Melissa, and said, "I hate you." 

Melissa looked from her friend to Richard's retreating form. "Oh." She gave Beth an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. He's just biding his time." 

But Beth thought that Richard wasn't the sort to bide his time. 

***

Nearly everyone put down their names to stay over Christmas -- even most of the younger students, optimistic that they could find someone to get them into the Yule Ball. Beth, reluctantly, did so as well, and that evening wrote a note to her father and Lycaeon explaining that she wouldn't be coming home for Christmas. She left the note for the house-elves to deliver to the Owlery, and at eleven o'clock as usual, headed on out for the weekly S.S.A. meeting. 

Richard had wanted to start the meeting about five hours early that week; but as he was overruled by eleven other people who didn't, he was forced to hold it on schedule. He started speaking as soon as they were all in the door. 

"I've been thinking about the Ledger." 

His statement was greeted with a horde of remarks. 

"No -- _really?"_

"Could've fooled me." 

"Not _you,_ Rich." 

Richard gave a lopsided grin and blushed a little. "Ha. Really, I've been thinking over Ginny Weasley. I mean -- she's just a little third-year girl. Why on earth would she want our Ledger?" 

"I don't know, but I bet you have a theory," said Mervin dryly. 

This time Richard blushed the whole way. "Three, actually." Groans and laughter. "Maybe you all can help me decide which one is right.First ... she did it out of revenge." 

"Revenge!" said Melissa hotly. "Revenge for what?" 

Richard shrugged. "Evan _did_ kidnap her, you know. She might've been so possessed that she didn't remember it, but still -- if she did, she's sure to be angry." 

Evan smirked from the corner. 

"Second," said Richard, "she wanted something inside it. Names, spells, history, what-have-you. I'm not sure what she'd want to do with it, which half scares me. Third -- and I hate to suggest this -- she's working for the Dark Lord." 

Nobody spoke. It was a less ludicrous suggestion than it sounded at first ... Ginny Weasley had been his vessel two years before, without even knowing it. 

"She looked a lot more ill back then," offered Oren timidly. 

"It's ridiculous," said Evan shortly. His arms were tightly crossed across his chest. "He possessed her. He used her. She'd never do anything to help him." 

"She still loves him," came a dreamy voice from the corner. 

Everyone turned in surprise. Audra Verona had spoken -- even more surprisingly, she continued to speak. 

"She hates him and fears him, but she remembers the first days with him, and she loves him a little bit, even now. She knows his new name, now ... but she still thinks of him as Tom. The boy she met in a book ... the handsome young man who almost killed her." 

There was a stunned silence. 

"How on _earth_ do you know that?" said Mervin loudly. 

Audra raised her eyes to him calmly. "Double Potions." 

"_I_ don't remember studying that in Potions," said Bruce. 

Everyone looked at Audra for an explanation or a retort; but, unsurprisingly, she wouldn't say another word. 

***

"Viktor vill be opening t'e dancing at t'e Yule Ball!" 

Josef's exuberant proclamation was met with tremendous gaiety from both his classmates and the Slytherins. 

"Oh Viktor, that means you'll need a _dance partner,"_ Gypsy said, eyes shining. "Who are you going to ask?" 

Viktor flushed bright pink and muttered something about not being sure. 

"That means he's got someone in mind!" Gypsy said gleefully. "Come on, Viktor, who? Do tell me it's not going to be that Fleur woman." 

"Or a Gryffindor," put in Bruce. "Just say it's not a Gryffindor." 

Katya said something in her native language and all the Durmstrangers laughed. 

"I am sorry," said Josef theatrically, putting a hand over his heart, "but I cannot accept this honor, Viktor. I haff already chosen another." 

"T'ank goodness," said Viktor, with half a grin. 

Josef looked around the Slytherin table and spotted Beth as if for the first time. "Ah, Beth," he said cheerfully, sliding into place beside her, "I vos vondering if you vould be so kind as to go to the Yule Ball vith me." 

Beth looked up at him in surprise and unexpected irritation. Her gaze fell on Richard at the prefects' table. "No, sorry," she said, and poured herself some coffee. 

Josef didn't look phased in the least. "I vill meet you in t'e Entrance Hall at seven, yes?" 

"No." 

"Ah." Josef shook his head sadly and leaned conspiratorially toward the student on his left, who happened to be a second-year Slytherin. "The blonde ones, they are so hard to get. I'll vait for you, my beauty!" he declared loudly, and half of the Slytherin table snickered. A brilliant blush rose in Beth's cheeks. 

Luckily, just then the mail came in, and everyone's attention was diverted by the flock of owls that swarmed in from the high open windows. Beth took the opportunity to sneak down the table to sit with Melissa. Her family owl found her, though, and deposited a letter onto her plate before swooping off to the Owlery. 

She ripped open the letter. 

            _If you're not going to come home for Christmas, want   
            to meet me in Hogsmeade next time they let you out?   
            Luke   
            p.s. Mr. Scamander wants to know what the devil is a   
            Blast-Ended Skrewt, and where can he get one?
_

"When's the next Hogsmeade trip?" Beth called over her shoulder at Melissa. 

A chorus of people replied. 

"January fifteenth," Melissa clarified, because it was impossible to hear over everyone's intermingled shouting. "Why?" 

"I'm going to meet my brother in Hogsmeade." The words alone gave Beth a warm thrill; a year ago she wouldn't have been able to say them. 

Melissa beamed. "I _told_ you he'd love you," she said. "Isn't that sweet? _My_ brother's just going to wait until summer to see me." 

"Mel," said Beth, "your brother's three." 

"Still," said Melissa, with a sniff. 

Their Charms lesson was trickier than usual that day, and the sixth-year Slytherins decided to meet in the library after dinner and work out their homework together. Unsurprisingly, Antigone didn't show, but after twenty minutes had passed and not a single one of the boys had come by, Beth and Melissa went looking for them. 

The boys turned out to be in the common room, gathered around the person of Warrington. Beth and Melissa slowed down as they approached. It didn't sound like a conversation that they were intended to hear. 

"I can't," said Warrington, looking at his shoes. 

"Sure you can," said Aaron brightly. "You just go up and say --" 

"I can't," said Warrington doggedly. "Not ever. Not in a million years." 

"Come on, Warrington, it's not that big a deal --" said Bruce in exasperation. "You're a tough guy, right, just go up and --" 

"Not in a million years," said Warrington, to the floor. He lurched to his feet and strode away. He turned around and pointed back at the boys. "And don't you _say_ anything about it!" 

"Fine, fine." Mervin raised his hands. "Don't worry about it." 

Warrington slammed the door so hard on his way out that the chandeliers shook. 

Bruce whistled. "Touchy these days," he said to Aaron, who nodded. 

"What's all this?" Beth grinned. "Trying to talk Warrington into beating somebody up?" 

Melissa tossed her hair. "Oh Beth, sometimes I think you don't have any feminine intuition," she sighed. Beth scowled. "He's going to ask someone to the ball. It's Antigone, isn't it?" 

Bruce glanced around the room to make sure that Warrington hadn't returned to hear the breach of trust. "Yeah. He just hasn't the guts to do it." 

"I think it's better that way," Melissa said. "She'll never say yes. Better the poor boy doesn't have to deal with her rejection." 

"I can't hurt to try," argued Bruce. 

"We're talking about _Antigone,"_ said Melissa. "It certainly can." 

She was certainly right. The next day at breakfast the boy from Beauxbatons, who had been eyeing Antigone all year, came straight up and asked her to the ball. She made a great show of ignoring him before breathing out a husky, suggestive "No" and whisking off to class. The day after that he came armed with flowers. She refused again and put the flowers on her bureau. The third day he was empty-handed; she carried on chatting with her friends while he made ardent proposals in both English and French to the back of her head. When he showed up outside Potions with chocolates and an enchanted violin, Antigone let him carry her cauldron all the way to the Entrance Hall before turning him down. He vowed to return and went off to the Beauxbatons carriage with his head held high. 

The Gryffindors had followed them out of the dungeons with tremendous interest, and now the Weasley twins took the opportunity to speak. 

"Mademoiselle von Snobbish, scourge of the French heart." 

"Honestly," said the other twin, hands spread, "who else do you think's going to ask you? Pretty-Boy Diggory?" 

Antigone tossed her hair. "And who are you two Don Juans taking to the Yule Ball?" she retorted. "Each other, I suppose?" 

The one on the left looked horrified. "Gorry, no. George looks awful in a ball gown." 

"That's not what you said last Tuesday night," the other broke in, miming indignation. 

"Oh I suppose you're going to say it's my turn to put on the makeup." 

"Well _I_ have chapped lips." 

"Chapped lips, huh, pantyhose always gives _me_ a rash ..." 

Antigone made a noise of disgust and stalked off, leaving the two Gryffindors still going back and forth, and their admirers howling with laughter. 

Beth concealed her own laughter and headed off to the library. 

She was only just starting to compile a list of the ingredients she would need for her Alchemy project. In most cases, any of two or three different ingredients could do the trick; it was a laborious process, choosing one based on cost, availability, potency, and the way they reacted to the other ingredients. Today it was between two pounds of cheap willow leaves and one ounce of expensive mandrake leaves. She turned into the Herbology section ... and paused. 

Richard was there, leaning against one of the bookshelves with his face buried between two volumes. He was peering through a pair of Omnioculars. 

"Uh ... Rich?" 

"Aah!" Richard jumped a foot in the air and came down clutching his chest. "Beth! You scared the _devil_ out me!" 

He looked awfully cute, with his face flushed like that, and Beth had to pause and clear her throat before speaking. "What exactly are you doing?" 

Richard looked sheepishly at the Omnioculars in his hand. "Just ... a little research." 

Beth leaned over and peered through the crack in the shelves. All she could see was a table laden with books ... and a bright red ponytail. "Aha." 

Richard shrugged guiltily. 

"Listen," said Beth, "I know you're desperate to get the Ledger back, but I honestly don't think Ginny Weasley is going to be reading it in the library -- even if she _did_ take it, which we don't know for sure," she added. 

"She's our only suspect," Richard said passionately. He leaned against the bookshelf. "I just can't stop thinking about it ... I mean, it holds so much information ... and ... I mean, I'm the _President,_ I should've taken _care_ of it ..." 

"Richard," said Beth firmly, "this is not your fault. The Ledger's been in the same place for fifty years -- you're just unlucky enough to be in charge when something went wrong." 

"I know ..." Richard didn't sound convinced. 

"It's true," Beth insisted. "You've got to think about something else for a little while. Like your N.E.W.T.s. Or how we're going to help Diggory with the second task. Or ..." Beth took a deep breath and summoned all her courage. "Or the Yule Ball." 

Richard looked at her curiously. "The Yule Ball?" An expression of understanding rose on his face -- he broke into a smile -- his eyes began to glint and Beth suddenly suspected that things weren't going the way she had hoped. "The _Yule Ball!"_ He ran a hand through his hair delightedly. "Beth -- you're a _genius!"_

"Uh," said Beth. 

"Fantastic!" cried Richard, overcome with zeal. "Why didn't I -- _perfect_ --" He started to skitter away, turned on his heel, grabbed Beth by the shoulders, planted a kiss in the middle of her forehead, and practically flew out of the library. 

Beth stared after him. She raised a hand to her forehead. Then she put both hands over her face and slumped against the wall. 

***

The S.S.A. meeting that week was a short one. It took one look at Richard to tell that he was plotting again. 

"This is our best chance all year," he said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. The old glint of battle was back in his eyes. "It's the one time we can get close to our prey without anyone being suspicious ... But who ..." He looked around the room thoughtfully. His eyes settled on Herne Rudisille. 

"Herne, you've got to ask Ginny Weasley to the Yule Ball." 

Herne looked alarmed. "Why me?" 

"You're the least threatening looking of any of us." That, at least, was true. Compared to Evan, Mervin, and Bruce, curly-haired Herne looked like a cherub. It was not, however, a point that Herne was proud of, and he flushed a bright pink (which Beth thought made him look extra cute). 

"If Herne strikes out," Richard went on, "Bruce will be up next, he has those hulking Quidditch muscles." Bruce looked half astonished and Melissa burst into laughter. "Then Oren ... oh wait, you're too young, aren't you? ... then ... Mervin, I guess ..." 

"Gosh, thanks," said Mervin dourly. 

"You think Mervin looks less threatening than me?" asked Evan, with a twisted smile. 

Richard looked irritated. "Yes, very frankly, and I don't want the poor girl terrified if Slytherin after Slytherin starts hitting on her. Besides, you look kind of like Tom Riddle, and that's the last thing she needs to be reminded of." 

"The 'poor girl' took your Ledger," Mervin pointed out. 

"I know," said Richard darkly. He got hold of himself quickly. "But we'll never get it back by acting like goons. Tomorrow, Herne. The sooner the better." 

Herne swallowed hard and nodded, and Beth thought he looked like he was agreeing to go to war. 

***

_The sky was dark; the torches flickered green and cast weird tints into the shadows that surrounded them. Beth glided forward toward a green bonfire. The shadows danced in and out … the flames rose and fell with the nighttime breeze … she felt small, she felt young, she felt overwhelmed in the sea of fire and darkness … she felt afraid … _

The banshee who rose up beside her began to howl ... 

Beth woke up with a garbled cry, wrapped in sheets so twisted that they felt like chains. Then she reached out between her canopies and very deliberately beat her alarm clock to death. 

The dream stuck with her as she showered, dressed and headed up to breakfast. She remembered quite clearly how nerve-wracking the previous year had been, with the death of an unknown family member looming over her, and weird green flames shrouding her mind whenever the dementors got too close. The loss of the Ledger was nothing compared to the potential loss of family that she had faced. 

The Great Hall filled quickly. Melissa showed up excitable and sat down near where Beth had found a spot with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. 

"Yule Ball gossip!" sang out Melissa. She leaned into the girls. "I know for a fact that Dumbledore has hired none other than the _Weird Sisters!"_

Blaise gaped. 

"Oh," said Beth, "the ones who sing _Peggy Fetch the Grease, I'm Stuck in Me Barrel_ and _Whiskey Stole My Sister_? Wow, they're good." 

"They're outstanding!" said Blaise enthusiastically. "Pansy, isn't that fantastic?" 

"Mm?" Pansy looked up from her copy of Witch Weekly. "Oh, them. Hairy bunch, aren't they? Not very interesting, I say." 

_"The Weird Sisters?"_ cried Blaise, astounded. "Pansy, they're _incredible_ -- Donaghan Trewlett can play the guitar and cello and about five wind instruments --" 

"Oh?" said Pansy, completely disinterested. 

"They use the bodhran and the timpani --" 

"You don't say." Pansy clearly had no idea what either of them were, or whether they were instruments at all. 

"They're _handsome,"_ said Blaise, almost in despair. It was obviously a last-ditch effort to convey her excitement. 

Pansy smiled at Draco. "I can't imagine that they would be much more handsome than certain of our classmates, can you?" 

Blaise let out a noise of disbelief and turned away. 

Someone at the prefects' table let out a wild, anguished cry. 

_The banshee!_ Beth thought instantly, and a cold dread dropped to the pit of her stomach. She whirled toward the prefects' table, half expecting to see the banshee right there in the middle of the hall, dress in tatters and hair blowing in an unseen wind ... but she noticed that others were turning too, some putting their hands over their ears. _That's not right,_ she thought, _I'm the only one who can hear her ..._

The wailing broke off abruptly. 

There was a smattering of laughter. Cedric Diggory stood up, smiling sheepishly, pink in the cheeks. 

"Sorry," he called, holding up the large golden egg he had obtained at the first task. "Sorry, that was my fault ..." 

He sat back down. Instantly, Richard Shaw and Penelope Clearwater leaned in toward him, almost begging to take a closer look at the egg. (The Gryffindor prefect, who had probably already looked over Potter's egg, didn't seem quite as interested.) Beth felt her heartbeat slow back down. She had been sure ... 

She looked over at the Hufflepuff table and caught a glimpse of Louisa Parsimmer, the cousin she had never met. Her face was deathly pale. 

"Hey," said Bruce, because Beth still looked frazzled. "Guess what." 

Beth turned back to him and forced a smile. "No idea." 

"I got us another scrimmage. Ravenclaw, the first Saturday of holiday." 

"Hey, good job!" said Beth, her smile genuine this time. 

"You know," said Melissa, "I was worried when they said there wasn't going to be a Quidditch season, but you seem to be doing just fine." 

"Davies wasn't even interested," Bruce went on, hardly hearing her. "All he wanted to talk about was how he's taking the Beauxbatons champion to the Yule Ball. So I went to their Seeker. She didn't really believe me at first, but I got Viktor to vouch for me, and she seemed pretty excited after that." 

Melissa snorted. "Show me a girl in the school who _wouldn't_ get excited at talking with Viktor Krum." 

"You two," said Bruce. 

"We see him three times a day," said Melissa. "The glamour's worn off." 

"I dunno," said Beth. "Those girls in the library never seem to get sick of him." 

Indeed, Krum's unsolicited entourage was never more than three aisles away from where he studied. 

Bruce scooted down the table to tell Aaron and Warrington the good news; at the same time Herne came and joined their group. His boyish face was somewhat paler than usual. "Well," he said, his voice a little shaky, "better get it over with now." 

Beth and Melissa became very excited. 

"Look her in the eye. Girls love that ..." 

"Make her feel special. Like she's the only one you want to go with at all ..." 

"And flattery could help." 

"But not too much, she'll catch on." 

"Be self-confident --" 

"Ooh, but not too cocky --" 

"Right, just be a little self-assured --" 

"Remember Uther? Don't be like him." 

"Uther had girlfriends all the time," said Herne uncertainly. 

"Ginny Weasley is not that kind of girl," Melissa said. "Be kindly. Be suave. Be charming." 

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Herne. 

Melissa rapped him sharply. "It'll go fine. Now scat." 

Herne tugged at his collar and, very reluctantly, headed across the room into enemy territory. 

Blaise hurried over excitedly. "Is he going to do it?" she asked, eyes shining. 

"Either that," said Melissa, "or he's going to go up to the Gryffindor table and just stand there like an idiot not saying anything." 

Herne had more guts than Melissa gave him credit for. He only stood there like an idiot for a couple of seconds before he cleared his throat and leaned toward the red-haired girl. 

"H-hi, Ginny," he stammered. 

The red-haired girl looked up and her eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of the unfamiliar boy in the Slytherin robes. "How do you know my name?" 

"Oh ... er ... seen you around," said Herne. 

"What a ladies' man," Melissa murmured. Beth shushed her, but not without amusement. 

"Oh," said Ginny, and went back to her reading. 

Herne cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. The three girls shooed him forward silently, waving their hands as if they could force him to speak from afar. Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "So ... want to go to the ball with me?" 

"So _suave,"_ said Melissa, and Blaise couldn't hide her giggle. 

Ginny didn't look up from her books. "No." 

Herne steeled himself. "Are you sure?" 

"Absolutely sure." 

"But ... you know you can't go unless you take someone older ... I mean, someone older asks you ..." 

"I don't care." She closed her book and put it away; her voice held a note of panic, and she was obviously preparing to bolt. 

Herne too sounded panicky. "You don't understand, I really have to take you to the ball ... Listen, I -- I can't live without you!" 

That, Beth thought, was overdoing it. 

"I told you no!" said Ginny shrilly, standing up and grabbing her bookbag. "Go away!" 

"But --" 

Herne took a step closer and Ginny jolted backward. Suddenly, a round-faced boy was at her side, glaring up at Herne with fear and defiance. 

"She said no, now -- get out of here!" 

It was Neville Longbottom. 

Herne looked astonished. "What?" 

"I ... I said get out of here!" Longbottom placed himself between Herne and Ginny. "Ginny, d'you ... d'you want to go with me?" 

A great relief washed over Ginny Weasley's freckled face. "All right, yes." She poked her head around Longbottom to glare at Herne. "I already have a date," she said firmly, and stalked away. Longbottom, after realizing that she left, hastily followed. 

Herne came back to the Slytherin table, shaking his head in confusion. "Did she just turn me down -- in favor of _Longbottom?"_

"Don't take it personally," said Blaise soothingly, and patted him on the back. 

"But Longbottom," Herne repeated, like a man scarred. Melissa poured him a cup of strong coffee. 

Richard hurried over and bent in towards them. "How did it go?" he asked in an anxious whisper. 

Herne buried his head in his arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~   
"Whiskey Stole My Sister" is a song my sister and I wrote, for our terrible two-piece Celtic folk-rock band called Nobody Home. It goes:   
_Whiskey stole my sister   
And the gin did too   
If you had a sister   
The whiskey'd steal her too._   
Herne is so cute. For a while there I was calling him "Rudy", after his last name Rudisille, but somehow he ended up just Herne instead. 


	10. Final Plans

**Chapter Ten: Final Plans**

There was one week to go before holidays, and the school's excitement over the Yule Ball was starting to be ridiculous. 

Almost every day now, at least one girl received her dress robes at breakfast. This led to squealing and primping, which irritated Bruce and made Beth feel somehow inferior. (She had her sky-blue dress robes from last year altered over the summer, when their school letter said that they would need them; apparently most of her classmates had decided to get new ones instead.) 

There was plenty of gossip to go around: who would be dancing with whom, who was going to be dancing with somebody they didn't like, who wouldn't be dancing at all. Melissa enjoyed that part. Beth hated it -- especially after she heard her own name come up in a group of seventh-years, who then lowered their voices as if she had died. 

Some girls (Blaise, for instance) moaned about not being asked to the Ball by anyone. Beth was being asked entirely too much. 

"Goot morning! Vant to go to t'e Yule Ball vith me?" 

"No thank you, Josef." 

"Ah vell. Perhaps tomorrow?" 

Tomorrow came. 

"Goot morning, Beth. Vant to go to t'e Yule Ball vith me?" 

"No, Josef." 

"Alas. I vill ask another day." 

Another day. 

"Goot morning! Vant to go to--" 

"What did I say yesterday?" 

"Yes?" 

"No." 

"Vell, tomorrow perhaps." 

Melissa thought Beth should accept on the grounds of Josef's sheer tenacity. 

"I don't want someone with _tenacity,"_ Beth roared, at that suggestion. "I want R--" 

Then she broke off and went very red in the face, while Melissa rocked with laughter. 

One day Josef failed to make his scheduled appearance at breakfast. Beth was almost out of the Great Hall, convinced she had got off scot-free, when Josef came scooting in from where his class was gathered in the Entrance Hall. 

"Goot morning," he said showily, bowing low to intentionally moon his classmates. He straightened up and in his hand appeared a bouquet of flowers, which he thrust at Beth. "So, vant to go to the Yule Ball vith me?" 

"I said no," said Beth, but grinned despite herself. 

"The stress of schooling, it is getting to her head," Josef called to the Durmstrang students. He sighed heavily. Then, brightening instantly, he shoved the bouquet into Melissa's hands and jogged away to the Entrance Hall, rejoining his class as if he had never left it. 

"See, I told you he was just a flirt," said Beth, motioning toward the flowers in Melissa's hands. 

"Yeah," said Melissa, smelling a daisy, "but he didn't ask _me_ to the Ball, did he?" 

"You're taken," Beth said shortly. "It's been Galen-this and Galen-that for weeks." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Melissa demanded, but by then they had reached the Charms classroom. 

Professor Flitwick stood in the doorway. "Good morning, my dears!" he squealed, as they came in. "Here you are, Miss Parson -- something for you as well, Miss Ollivander ..." He thrust a stuffed toy animal into each of their hands. 

Beth's plushie turned out to be a soft red lobster, to her delight. Melissa traded her manticore for Bruce's fluffy toy duck. Mervin nearly broke into tears when he was handed a toy snake that bore more than a passing resemblance to his former pet, Gina. 

"Shrinking Spells again!" sang out Professor Flitwick. 

This had not been a popular lesson among the Slytherin men. First off, they were working with cute and cuddly things, which in themselves led Aaron to make fake gagging noises at least twice per class. Second, if you did the Shrinking Spell right, you would end up with something even cuter and cuddlier. 

"It would be different if we were, you know, growing warts or boils on these things," Bruce discoursed, his manticore at wandpoint. "Likewise, making them scaly or pointy or growing quills all over them. But I can't see the point of making anything _more_ teensy and defenseless than it already is." 

"Size doesn't matter," Beth said offhandedly. _"Attenuus."_ Her lobster's claws shrunk disproportionately to its tail. "It's how you use it." 

Antigone let out a little shriek. 

Everyone turned to look. Across the classroom, Warrington's desk was quickly being enveloped by an enormous brown teddy bear. It was growing by the second. Behind its furry bulk, Warrington could no longer be seen. 

"No, no, no, Mr. Warrington!" Professor Flitwick scurried over to the expanding bear and poked it with his wand. "You have quite the wrong idea!" 

The bear shrank back to its original size, emitting a sad little _fweee_ noise on the way. Warrington scowled sullenly at the teddy bear, who smiled innocuously back at him with sightless button eyes. Across the room, Antigone von Dervish turned up her nose at him despite the fact that she had yet to perform the spell correctly herself. 

Flitwick wasn't the only one who stuck to his syllabus. Yule Ball or not, the professors had everyone hopping for their end-of-term tests and projects. Alchemy was a particular horror. Snape and Vector wanted a summary of what had been accomplished so far, and very frankly Beth didn't have much to say. It seemed like there was always just one more thing to research before she got started. Melissa got to hear all about the project every night at dinner. 

"... but it turns out that you can't just transfigure your eyes into cat eyes, because you'd need a cat brain to interpret what you see -- you know? And I can't really do brain transfigurations without a salve of some kind ..." 

Melissa murmured an incoherent reply. 

"So I thought, maybe I could do a salve and a potion. But that's outside of the scope of the project -- Snape won't let me change it, do you believe that? So I have to keep the eye human while adding characteristics ..." 

"Mm hmm." Melissa's attention alternated between dinner and Pansy's _Witch Weekly._

Beth chewed meditatively on a carrot stick. "At least I've got a few months yet." 

There was a loud clatter of shoes on the stone floor and both of them looked up. Mervin skidded up to them, a horrified expression on his face. "Hide me," he squeaked, glanced over his shoulder, and dove under the table. Seconds later, Maria-Regina strode into their midst and sat down beside Beth. 

"Vare is Mervink?" she asked. "I am thinking I am seeing him heading here, yes?" 

"Er," said Beth. "I think he's -- _ow!"_ Something bit her ankle and she kicked out reflexively. There was a whimper from beneath the table. "He's not here," she finished grumpily. "He's probably off irritating somebody." Melissa stifled a snigger. 

Maria-Regina sighed heavily and propped her head on one fist. "I am vishing to speak vith him," she said sadly, "but I am haffing trouble to catch him." 

"He's slippery, all right," said Melissa, with a straight face. 

"Slimy, almost," Beth agreed. 

"Perhaps he is very busy," said Maria-Regina. "I vill be to look for him in t'e library." She got up and made her way out of the Great Hall, looking around hopefully as she went. 

Several moments passed. Finally a feeble "Is she gone?" wafted from below the table. 

"Yes, it's safe," said Melissa disapprovingly. She watched Mervin struggle to the surface. "Why won't you go to the ball with her?" 

Mervin looked at her with fearful eyes. "I _can't!"_

"I don't see what's so bad about her," Melissa said primly. "She goes to Durmstrang, so she must be a pureblood. She was one of the competitors, so she must be smart. She's not even that bad-looking." 

"Sure, if you like Amazon women," grumbled Mervin. "She's three times my size." 

Melissa eyed Mervin's scrawny build. "I daresay that's not her fault." 

"Hey!" 

"Well, she's right," said Beth. 

"I can't go with her," Mervin said again. "Just think how we would look dancing! Like Flitwick and Madame Maxime doing the tango." 

"Oh good heavens, it's not _that_ bad," said Melissa scornfully. "Honestly -- first Antigone, then Beth, now you. What's wrong with accepting an invitation?" 

Both Mervin and Beth were speechless. Beth had no idea how the conversation had suddenly turned into an accusation against her. "I have to get to the library," she said shortly. She picked up her bookbag and left before she could gauge Melissa's reaction. 

She was attacked by Josef on the way. 

"Beth, vill you go vith me to the --" 

"No," Beth barked, and strode past. 

The library was full; apparently Snape and Vector weren't the only ones giving their students end-of-term panicwork. Beth spent a few minutes looking for an empty table and finally had to settle for a tiny three-seat table where Blaise sat, hunched and scowling, over some Transfiguration. 

They hadn't been there more than twenty minutes when their President plunked down with them. 

His hair was rumpled and his eyes looked a little bit feverish. "What are you up to?" Beth said warily. Richard answered before her question was even finished. 

"Yule Ball planning," he breathlessly. He had a large stack of papers with him, and smudges of ink on one cheek. Beth could make out a list of names on the top paper. "Who's Herne going with?" 

Beth and Blaise looked at each other. "He hasn't asked anybody," said Blaise. "He was so upset about getting turned down by Ginny Weasley that he doesn't want to try again." 

"Nobody?" Richard looked alarmed. "He's got to have a date! It's his duty!" He rifled through his stack of papers. "Let's see ... we don't have anybody dating a Ravenclaw. I'm sure one of them's still free." He stood up. "I'm going to talk some sense into him." He hurried away. 

Beth and Blaise watched him go. "He's batty," said Blaise simply. 

"Yeah," said Beth. She sighed. It looked like Richard would probably just end up running his spy ring on Christmas and not ask _anybody_ to the Yule Ball. "Who do you want to go to the ball with, Blaise?" 

Blaise looked away. "He's taken." 

"Oh." 

They sat there glumly. 

"You know what?" Beth said at last. "This whole thing is such a pain." 

Blaise's eyes slid across the room to where Pansy and Draco were not studying several tables away. "Only for some of us," she said, and she was unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. 

Studying with Blaise was sometimes difficult because she tended to be moody. Beth stuck it out for another hour in order to keep from hurting her feelings; then she made an excuse about missing some textbooks and headed out to the common room. Poor Blaise, she thought, as she gave the password. She's so unhappy, but I don't think she knows what she wants. 

Beth stepped into the common room to see Melissa screaming into the fireplace. 

The first thought was that her best friend had finally lost her mind completely. Then she stopped laughing long enough to hear what Melissa was carrying on about. 

"I can't believe you won't even take the time out to --" 

A male voice broke in over her hysterics, and Beth realized that there was a large disembodied head floating just over the fire. It looked vaguely familiar. 

"Look here, Mel, you can't expect me to just pack up in the middle of something so monumental --" 

"You _jerk,_ I thought _we_ were monumental, not some stupid _artifact_ --" 

"It's a very _important_ artifact, and I thought you of all people would recognize that!" 

Hesitantly, Beth came a little closer. Once she had a good view, she recognized the face: Galen Melhorn, Melissa's longtime boyfriend. 

"Fine!" bellowed Melissa, very red in the face. "Fine! Now that we know what's really important to you --!" 

"Ah, Mel, I didn't say that," Galen began angrily, but Melissa conjured a bucket of water and dumped it over the burning logs. Galen's head went up in a puff of blue steam and vanished. 

Melissa tossed the bucket into the fireplace for good measure and lit the whole thing with a vast green fire that was rather larger than necessary. Beth approached gingerly. 

"Uh ... Mel?" 

Melissa turned to face her, an evilly satisfied smile on her face. "Yes?" 

"Are you ... uh ... what was all that ...?" 

"That?" Melissa waved a hand at the fire. "Just taking care of some business. Doesn't matter much. _Obviously,"_ she said, face reddening again, "it means very little, probably even _nothing_ to certain others --" Her voice rose as she spoke. "Some people place _very little value_ on the really important things --" 

"You might want to hush," said Beth, with a quick glance around at the students gathered in the common room. "People can hear you." 

"I don't care!" Melissa roared. To Beth's horror, she turned to face the rest of the room. "I want everyone in the common room to know that _Galen Melhorn is a Gryffindor jerk!"_

She turned and stalked off to the sound of wild applause. 

***

Melissa sulked for about a day, during which time her only joy was telling people how much she had disliked Galen from the beginning and how, in fact, she had been intending to break up with him since the summer anyway. She spent a lot of time commiserating with Blaise. After that, she must have decided that no Gryffindor jerk was worth wasting her tears on, and she got interested in the Yule Ball again. 

About midweek, a fifth-year Gryffindor came up and asked Audra if she'd be his partner for the Yule Ball. She graciously accepted and then immediately left for class. The Gryffindor showed up every once in a while for the next few days, offering to carry her books or commenting about the weather. Audra was always polite, but that was all. She wasn't like Antigone, purposefully ignoring the boy who padded after her like a puppy. She wasn't intentionally cold. She just didn't look like she cared very much whether or not she went to the Yule Ball, and who was with her if she did. In fact, Richard was far more excited about the invite than she was. 

"Splendid!" he cried, at the meeting that week. "A Gryffindor, you say? I didn't think we'd be able to get in with them. Audra, you're a marvel." He gave her a serious look. "I know this won't be up your alley, but you've got to keep him talking, you understand?" 

Audra nodded. 

Richard shifted his attention to Oren. "You two are still following Ginny Weasley. What have you find out?" 

Oren glanced at Audra and cleared his throat. "Well," he said, adjusting his rimless spectacles, "she's not all that excited to be going to the Yule Ball, even though not a whole lot of our classmates are going. Everyone knows she's got a crush on Potter -- eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad, and all that." Many of the members snickered. "Let's see ... she's been in the library a lot lately for a big Transfig report. She had to owl home for dress robes because her mother didn't expect her to need them ..." He shrugged a little apologetically. "That's all, really." 

"Well, it's better than nothing," Richard sighed. "Anyone else?" 

Melissa put on her cat's grin and gazed idly at the ceiling. "Somebody might have got into Gryffindor tower while the third-years were off at lunch." 

It took a minute for Richard to understand what she was saying. "Into ... into Gryffindor tower? What -- who?" 

"Me!" said Melissa, annoyed. She went on, as Richard was having trouble forming words. "I got the password off an underclassmen I met the other year. I dug around her room a bit, got into her trunk and bureau and things." 

Finally Richard managed, "What did you find?" 

Melissa broke into a grin. "She's got 'Mrs. Virginia Potter' written all over her notebooks." 

Richard let out a huff of impatience. "Yes, yes, all right, but what's _in_ them?" 

Melissa shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Class notes ... scribblings in the margins from Colin Creevey ... little doodles of hearts and things ..." She gave Richard a look. "Didn't mention the Ledger once -- I ran a research spell on them -- and there wasn't exactly a stamp that said Property of the Dark Lord." 

"What, no Dark Mark in her textbooks?" Bruce grinned. 

"Just because they're all over yours ..." said Melissa primly. 

"Okay." Richard ran both hands through his hair. "All we know is it's not in her room. She could be keeping it in -- in another classroom, or in the common room ..." 

"D'you want me to go in again?" Melissa offered. Beth suspected that her eagerness to do so was half a desire to get revenge on Galen and all his ilk. 

"Well ..." Richard trailed off. "Let's see what we unearth at the Yule Ball. If we don't find anything out, we might need you to go _live_ there." 

***

Richard continued to plan. Students continued to pair off. And every day now, Antigone von Dervish was giving the cold shoulder to the same tenacious Beauxbatons boy. 

On Tuesday he was there waiting for her outside of Charms. 

"I actually feel bad for her," said Beth, watching Antigone brush past the Beauxbatons boy without a glance. "That kid's as bad as Josef." 

But the Beauxbatons boy, like Josef, was not to be dissuaded. "Mademoiselle!" he cried, struggling to get to her through the flock of moving Slytherins. "Mere words are not enough -- oof -- _me pardonner_ -- are not enough to describe your exquisite beauty! I 'ave -- _m'excuser_ -- I 'ave written you a verse!" 

A murmur of interest spread through the Slytherins and the crowd ground to a halt. Most of them turned to the Beauxbatons boy, to see if he had actually written a poem and would have the guts -- or bad judgment -- to read it aloud in the corridors. Antigone stayed frozen, arms crossed, facing away from her paramour. 

The boy seemed no worse for having to deliver his love poem to his idol's back. He dug a parchment from his pocket and unrolled it hastily. "It is in your language," he said awkwardly. "I will deliver it in mah own tongue at a time more appropriate for ze language of love." 

Aaron nearly smothered himself holding back his sniggers. Beth could almost feel Antigone's cold glare. 

The Beauxbatons boy cleared his throat and began to read.     

        Winter snows conceal the ground.   
        My heart, too, is hid below   
        The cold, white flakes of unrequited love,   
        Frozen by your willful snow.   
        My aching heart will have no other   
        So let it freeze there in its bower,   
        And when you warm to me at last   
        The melting snow will raise a flower. 

The Beauxbatons boy looked up from his parchment nervously. The entire crowd had fallen into a deathly stillness. "For you, Mademoiselle," he said simply, holding out the parchment to Antigone's back. 

Antigone turned to address him for the first time. _"Votre mots sont bête et enfantin,"_ she said haughtily, blue eyes like ice. _"Si vous me voulez, vous devez agir."_ She sauntered away, leaving the Beauxbaton boy agog with desire, parchment drooping in his hand. 

The stunned silence shifted into delighted chatter. 

"I don't believe it," Melissa said, watching Antigone disappear around the corner. "That airhead actually learned French." 

"What did she say?" asked Beth, prodding Bruce in the ribs. 

"'Words are silly and childish'," Bruce translated. The Beauxbatons boy sadly rolled up his parchment and retreated. "'If you would have me, you must act.'" 

_Somebody,_ Beth thought, _should tell that to Richard._

***

But nobody did. And on the Friday before the Yule Ball, with one paltry week to go, Richard had yet to make his move. 

"Richard's never going to ask me to the Yule Ball," Beth said glumly, picking at her breakfast without appetite. "I don't know where you got the idea, but you were dead wrong." 

Melissa chewed on her lower lip. "So ... are you going to go with Josef?" 

"No!" 

"Why not then? He's asked you about a dozen times ..." 

"Oh Mel, he's not serious!" Beth said, exasperated. "He's probably asked every girl in Slytherin by now. Just look at him," she added, and gestured down the table to where Josef was egging on the boys to see how high they could stack their goblets. "He'd ask Professor McGonagall if he got a chance." 

"But he hasn't --" 

"I just don't want to be the one idiot who actually falls for it and accepts!" 

"He only --" 

"He's only trying to get attention," said Beth, in a tone of finality. "All I've got to do is keep on taking lessons from her." She gestured down the table where Antigone stood, twirling her long hair around her fingers and completely ignoring the boy from Beauxbatons who was once more ardently in pursuit of her attention. 

"Do not scorn me, fairest of ze fair! I lay my 'eart at your beautiful feet!" 

She had repeatedly and fetchingly refused to go to the ball with him. If anything, he seemed to be encouraged by every new dismissal. 

"But I pine for you day and night! Mon cher, I weep when I leave your presence! Your eyes are like orbs of crystal --" Here he bent and fervently kissed her hand. "Will you not ease my aching soul?" 

_"No, cherie,"_ said Antigone, with a vicious smile. 

"But 'ow can you ignore me, when Ah dream of nothing but your gorgeous smile ..." 

There was a loud thud. Beth turned in time to see Warrington land his fist square on the Beauxbatons boy's chin. He fell like a stone. 

"She's coming with me," he boomed at the unconscious figure in blue robes. He turned to Antigone. "You're coming with me," he repeated, with a hint of uncertainty. 

But Antigone was looking at him in a way that she never had before. _"Oui,"_ she breathed. 

"Well yeah, me an' you," Warrington mumbled, shuffling his feet. 

Antigone reached out and slid her slender hand into Warrington's large one. 

_"Wow,"_ breathed Warrington. 

It was a long time before the look of astonishment left his face. 

~~~~~~~~   
Executive decision: That "author's notes" page was a really bad idea. It's screwing people up because I have to re-order it every time I put up a new chapter, which is twice a day. So I'm scrapping it. The heck with story continuity.   
Also, I just found out that Morag is a Scottish girls' name. Oops.   
Netrat: Regarding Audra: I think her hair's pretty white. If it's blonde, it's the kind of blonde that doesn't have any yellow in it. Since you're curious, I didn't know I was going to induct Audra when she was Sorted in book 2. For this book I just went through all the third-years and picked the two names I liked best. 


	11. The Ravenclaw Scrimmage

**Chapter Eleven: The Ravenclaw Scrimmage**

The Ravenclaw scrimmage took place the first day of holiday. By this time the Quidditch pitch was concealed under a thick blanket of snow; Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike, along with a handful of interested foreign students, huddled under their cloaks in the frosty stands. This game was much less informal than the Durmstrang match had been. If anyone had been announcing, or if Stebbins hadn't been playing referee, it might have almost seemed like an ordinary game. 

Beth and Melissa huddled together under a broad flannel cloak, cheering feebly for their classmates in between ducking down to warm their hands on a small fire that Melissa had brought along in a jar. 

"Quidditch is great and all," said Beth, teeth chattering, "but honestly, in the wintertime I don't think it's worth it." 

"H-hush," Melissa stammered back. "I th-think Aaron's about to s-score." 

It had been a close game. All of them were out of practice, and it showed: with a score of one hundred twenty to one hundred thirty, whoever caught the Snitch was guaranteed to win. As it was, a light snowfall obscured just about everything, and both Draco and Cho Chang had been flying around in circles for an hour now. 

Aaron swooped into position and raised his hand to throw. As he did, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers zoomed in front of him and snatched the ball from his oft-injured hand. Instantly, Warrington was there. He dove in front of the Ravenclaw, who let out a yelp and swerved as fast as she could to the left. Without hesitation, Warrington drove his elbow into her stomach so hard that she went into a spin, gasping in pain. The Quaffle flew out of her hands. Warrington reached up and caught it, effortlessly, and passed it back to Aaron, who dodged the astonished Keeper and scored. 

All this happened in less than a second. The referee, Stebbins, finally found his voice and cried, "Foul!" even as he flew at top speed toward the scene of the crime. "Foul, foul, foul -- are you all right, Jen?" 

"I'll be fine," the weak voice floated back. 

"I'll have you for that," Stebbins began harshly, still not daring to get within an arm's length of the massive Slytherin, but another voice cut in, even louder and more angry. 

_"Warrington!"_

Bruce had abandoned the goal box and was barreling toward the melee. He looked furious. 

"What were you doing?" 

Warrington swooped angrily and muttered something about "winning" and something else about "Marcus". 

"I don't care what Marcus said!" Bruce roared. The entire team fell still and turned to look at him. "From now on we're winning on our skills, not our fouling!" The Ravenclaws cast each other uneasy looks. Stebbins' jaw dropped. 

Warrington shuffled in mid-air. For a moment he looked like he was going to fight back; then he frowned heavily and sank a few inches. He was obviously giving in to Bruce's authority. 

"Go sit out until you're cooled off," Bruce ordered. He looked around at the remaining Slytherins and finally whistled at Morag MacDougal. The redhead mooched a broomstick off of one of his classmates and joyously zoomed onto the field. 

Beth watched Bruce with a new measure of admiration. "He's not just scrimmaging, is he?" she said slowly. 

"No," said Melissa, just as slowly. She watched as Bruce introduced Morag to the other two Chasers, while Warrington settled sullenly on the sidelines. "I think he's training next year's team." 

Stebbins looked from Bruce to Warrington and back at Roger Davies, who shook his head in astonishment. "Penalty shot to Ravenclaw," he said, his tone more surprised than angry. "Bletchley, get in place to receive." 

Bruce nodded and swept back to the Keeper's box. 

Stebbins whistled for the Quaffle and, when it was tossed to him, handed it over to one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, a girl with frizzy brown hair above a cute face of the same color. Without a moment's pause, she took off toward the Slytherin goals, lured Bruce to one side with some fancy flying, and sank the goal in the right-hand hoop. 

The Ravenclaws whooped and cheered. This same Chaser was responsible for more than half her team's goals so far. Bruce was using every move in his arsenal, and was still having trouble keeping her off. 

Beth let her eyes scan the audience. Like she and Melissa, everyone was mostly huddled in groups of two or three, with portable fires and thick blankets or cloaks. Some of the Ravenclaws were doing their homework. Down in a corner of the stands, a lone figure sat with his head tilted to watch the game. His black-and-yellow scarf fluttered in the wind and collected snow flurries. 

Beth sat up straighter. She leaned in to Melissa. "Diggory's alone," she murmured. "I'm going to talk to him about the second task." 

Melissa craned her neck to take a glance at him. "Good luck," she murmured back, and Beth stood up and made her way down the snowy bleachers to where the Hufflepuff sat. 

She took a seat beside him wordlessly. Cedric glanced her way and then turned his eyes back to the game. For several minutes they sat together silently, neither making eye contact nor even acknowledging the other. Finally, Beth broke the silence. 

"We told you the truth," she said quietly. 

Cedric didn't take his eyes from the flying figures above him. "I know." 

Beth watched Bole blast a Bludger toward the Ravenclaw Seeker. "If I said that we wanted to help you with the second task ..." 

"... then I'd wonder why," Cedric answered. His voice was neither suspicious nor warm; it was the flat, noncommittal tone of a man on the subway, discussing the next stop with a stranger. 

"I told you last time," said Beth. "We know that you took the Transcongus Brew." 

Cedric started and turned to her for the first time. "Is this _blackmail?"_

"Black-- no, no, of course not!" Beth said, irritated and astonished. "For heaven's sake, Diggory --" 

The audience burst into cheers. Ravenclaw had scored again: the same frizzy-haired Chaser as before. It was hard to see Bruce's reaction from so far away, but Beth could guess that he was as embarrassed as he was rueful. 

"I don't understand," said Cedric suddenly. 

Beth looked at him. "What?" 

"Why you would try to help me. What's in it for you?" 

"Well --" Beth hesitated. "Nothing." Lame but true, she thought to herself. This is one Society mission that isn't worth its weight in glory. 

"Slytherins _never_ do anything for nothing," Cedric insisted. "For that matter, _nobody_ does. What is it? Did you place some bet on me to win? Are you going to try to get credit if I do? I'd just feel better if I knew what you playing at!" 

"We're _not playing,"_ said Beth heatedly. "We know what that potion did to you, Diggory, and we don't want to just sit by and watch it happen!" 

"That's the other thing," said Diggory. "You keep bringing up that potion -- how do you even know about it?" 

Beth hesitated, considered several fabrications, and decided on the absolute truth. "I was spying on you. I thought you might be the Heir of Slytherin." 

Diggory's jaw dropped. Then he began to laugh. 

"I know, you're a Hufflepuff, but come on, people were seriously suspecting _Potter_ back then," Beth argued. "Everybody was suspicious. Especially the ones checking out restricted books and then working on potions late at night," she added pointedly. 

Cedric grinned ruefully. "Okay, point taken. I appreciate you being worried about me and all ... I guess ... but I'm going to be fine." 

"How can you say that?" Beth hissed. "The book said very clearly that you paid for that potion with your life!" 

Cedric glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. "Listen," he said, dropping his voice, "my Uncle Claudius took that potion once too. He's fifty-five years old and fit as a fiddle. I am not worried about it." 

Beth's eyebrows demonstrated her skepticism. "But the recipe said --" 

Cedric waved a hand impatiently. "I don't care what the recipe said. It's too late for Claudius to die young, he's in perfect shape, he doesn't even do anything dangerous. He's an astronomer. The only way he's going to die on the job is if he gets hit on the head with a meteorite." 

It didn't make sense. Beth tried to work out her thoughts. "I think the potion leads you into danger," she said, only half to Diggory. "It doesn't kill you itself, like poison ... it somehow acts on outside forces ... I don't know," she finished, frustrated. "All I know is that you're in a lot of danger." 

Diggory raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't --" 

Beth broke in. 

"But you could have _died!_ I don't think you get it -- the tasks are deadly! If you hadn't been prepared you could have been _killed!"_

Diggory fell silent, clearly recalling his battle with the dragon. He seemed to be fighting inside himself. Finally he said, "Give me until New Year's to solve the riddle myself. If I don't have it by then, I'll come to you. Satisfied?" 

"I guess I have to be," said Beth, looking into the sky in time to see the female Chaser score on Bruce yet again. 

Cedric suddenly let out a laugh. "Kiesha's really doing a job on your boy Bletchley, isn't she?" he said, without a hint of malice. "Cho tells me she spent half the summer at a training camp run by the Montrose Magpies." 

"It shows," Beth admitted. Why, she thought with despair, why couldn't Diggory be more worried about himself? 

"I say --" Cedric stood up suddenly, excitement all over his handsome features. "Come on, Cho!" 

Beth stood up too. The Ravenclaw Seeker was zipping downfield like a bullet, pressed tight to the shaft of her broomstick, cutting through the air like a hawk diving for a mouse. Draco, who up until now had been idly weaving between Bole and Derrick, caught sight of her too late. He nosed his Nimbus into a vertical dive not ten seconds before Cho made a swipe with her arm and slowed to a halt, holding out her closed fist to Stebbins. 

Stebbins blew a shrill, long note on his whistle. "Snitch captured by Cho Chang -- Ravenclaw wins, three hundred to one hundred thirty!" 

There were groans and cheers from the crowd. The teams landed and dispersed. Roger Davies made his way across the field to shake hands with Bruce, who looked surprised and pleased. 

Beth gave Diggory a rueful smile. "Congratulations." 

Diggory grinned at her, face handsomely flushed with the excitement of Cho's success. "Hey, thanks. Your fellows played well." 

Beth nodded and started away. Cho Chang came running across the field and leapt into Cedric's arms; he whirled her around once and planted a big kiss in the middle of her forehead. "Spectacular." 

"As always," came a cool, sassy voice from near them. The Ravenclaw Chaser had joined them at the bleachers. She had warm brown skin and a smattering of dark freckles, all of which was topped with a frizzy mop of brown hair. Her forehead shimmered with sweat. She was grinning. 

"Well done, Kiesha!" Diggory said. "Boy, I wish you were in my house." 

"Our house has a cuter Seeker," said Kiesha tartly, resting an elbow on Cho Chang's shoulder. "Speaking of cute, who was that dashing gent in green?" 

Cho made a face. "Not Eustace Bole? He can fly all right, but he's such a -- a _goon_ --" 

"No, no, no!" said Kiesha. "The other one --" 

They started away. Beth returned to where Melissa was gathering up her things. Mervin had joined her, shivering madly beneath a massive parka. "Come on, hurry!" he gasped. "It's lunchtime, I'm freezing and I'm starved ..." 

They, along with the rest of the spectators, hurried inside to the warmth of the castle. The game had ended just in time; students were spilling into the hallways from all directions, drawn by the tantalizing aromas of hot meat pies, toasty rolls fresh from the oven, and steaming vegetables. Mervin began drooling openly. 

Melissa glanced at him. "Oh, by the way, Mervin -- have you made up your mind about Maria-Regina?" 

"Yes, I think she's awfully tall and she terrifies me. Why?" 

Melissa rolled her eyes. "I mean about what you'll tell her, if she ever gets a chance to ask you to the Yule Ball." 

"She's not getting a chance," Mervin said instantly. "I can hide in this castle for a good long time. Back in first year I managed to avoid Warrington for two solid weeks, and he slept in the same room as me." 

Beth grinned. "Well, he's not the hardest person to fool, though." 

"But what if she finds you?" Melissa pressed. 

Mervin waved away the question. "I'll get someone else." 

Melissa glanced over his shoulder. "Better do it quick then." 

Mervin followed her gaze and a look of horror came over his face. Beth quickly turned around to look. Maria-Regina, in all her Amazonian glory, was wading through the halls while awed first-years on either side gawped at the majestic blonde mountain. 

Mervin turned three shades of pale. He stopped and stared as the crowds swarmed around him. Suddenly, desperately, he reached out and grabbed the arm of the nearest female. "Want to go to the ball with me?" he blurted. 

The girl he had caught was a Hufflepuff, plump and saucy. "What?" 

"Yule Ball," he gasped, hiding behind Beth as Maria-Regina made her way through the crowd. "Go with me -- please --" 

"Well ..." said the Hufflepuff, eyeing him. "I guess ... yes, all right." 

Mervin stood up and met her eyes with sincere relief. "You have saved my life." Without warning, he lunged forward and kissed her full on the lips. 

Beth gaped. The Hufflepuff let out an exclamation which was muffled by the presence of Mervin's face. Down the hall, Maria-Regina stopped dead and stared at Mervin and the Hufflepuff. Her mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. Then she turned and charged away. 

***

Maria-Regina Dolohov did not end up at lunch that day. At dinner, her classmates showed up without her again. 

"She must be very upset," Melissa guessed, giving Mervin a dirty look. 

Andrei shook his head. "No," he said. "She is angry. She vos afraid if she came to dinner, she vould harm him badly." 

Mervin looked up from his salmon and blanched to a sickly gray. 

After dinner, the denizens of Hogwarts dispersed to their evening activities. Warrington and Bole got into a spirited wrestling match in the center of the common room; Richard made them clear out a space and cast some barrier spells on the sharp corners, and then let them go to it. The little curly-haired boy, whom Beth was beginning to think of as King of the Firsties, went around trying to broker bets on the outcome of the match. 

Beth worked on her Alchemy. The horrible thing about the class was that besides the final project -- nowhere near halfway completed, thanks for asking -- they still had to keep up on a regular courseload of work. _Christmas is four days away,_ she thought bitterly, _and I'm doing Alchemy._ Life was not fair. 

She was about three equations away from pulling her hair out when Blaise came up and pounded both fists on the table. 

Beth looked up with a start. "What?" 

Blaise slumped into the seat across from her. 

"If you see a certain Mr. Bruce Bletchley," Blaise seethed, "please do the world a favor and kill him for me." 

"Okay," said Beth mildly. "How come?" 

"That jerk told me he already had a date to the Yule Ball!" Blaise let out a bitter laugh. "As if I'd believe that. The only girls he even _knows_ are you two. But you know what -- I don't want to go with a lying goon like that anyway." 

Beth thought fast. "I can't believe he'd do that to you," she said indignantly. "He's going to hear about this from me." She took a quick glance around the common room and her eyes fell on a nearly-empty couch in the corner. "But ... maybe it's for the best." 

Blaise snorted. 

"Honestly," said Beth. "You never know what'll turn up." She gathered up her books. "Sorry, I have to go ... eh ... work on Alchemy. Talk to you later." 

"Okay," said Blaise, disappointment etched into her voice. 

Beth got up and wandered nonchalantly across the room to where Aaron sat poking through his scrapbook of the Tutshill Tornadoes. Without a greeting, she flopped down beside him. 

"Going to look a bit silly, aren't you?" she said offhandedly. "At the Yule Ball, I mean." 

Aaron looked up at her quizzically. "Huh?" 

"I think you're the only fellow in our class who hasn't got a partner to dance with. You know, even Mervin found somebody this morning." 

"No way!" Aaron closed his scrapbook. Now he was interested. 

Beth nodded. "A cute little Hufflepuff girl." She started fiddling with the fringe on a pillow. "That leaves you. I just wonder who you're going to hang out with, if everyone else is dancing." 

Aaron's eyes widened. He hadn't considered that. "Bruce." 

"He already has a date," said Beth, praying that Aaron wouldn't find out the truth. 

"Warring--" he began, and stopped. Everyone knew perfectly well that Warrington would have eyes for no one but Antigone all night. 

Beth shrugged. 

Aaron turned to her with eyes that suddenly showed the panic that the rest of the school had been experiencing for weeks now. "I've got to get a partner." 

Beth shrugged again. "If you think that's best ..." 

"That's the only thing to do, isn't it?" Aaron said, still astonished that he hadn't anticipated this series of events. 

Beth sat up and nodded firmly. "You're absolutely right. Say --" She snapped her fingers. "I know someone else who needs a partner too." 

"Who?" 

Aaron was like a fish on a hook now. Beth smiled as she pointed across the common room. "There. The cute one that always hangs around Pansy Parkinson." 

Aaron arched his neck to look. "Oh -- right, Draco's friend." He hesitated. "I guess she's not too bad-looking ..." 

Beth was going to say something about Blaise having a wonderful personality, but changed her mind. "She knows a lot about Quidditch," she said instead. "Her name's Blaise. But --" Here she took a risk. "But you'd better hurry, I think I saw Stebbins watching her at the scrimmage." 

Aaron's eyes narrowed. "Bloody Stebbins. You say her name's Blaise?" Without another word, he get up and headed across the common room to where Blaise sat, oblivious. 

"Good luck," Beth called after him. A broad, self-satisfied grin settled over her face. That's where Melissa found her half an hour later -- idly flipping through Aaron's abandoned scrapbook, pleased to death with herself. 

"Aren't we just the cat's pajamas," said Melissa, sitting down beside her. 

"Oh, we _are,"_ said Beth. "You'll be so proud of me. I got Little Puce to ask Blaise to the Yule Ball. Come on, tell me how cool I am." 

"Good for you," said Melissa. "Now how about fixing _yourself_ up with a partner." 

Beth flushed pink. "That's harder," she admitted. 

_"Honestly,"_ said Melissa. "You're out of time, Beth. You need to settle this." 

"Well -- do you have a date yet?" Beth said defensively. 

"Of course," said Melissa. "I asked Andrei. He's very nice -- although if my parents ever find out I'm hobnobbing with a Gregorovich, they'll evict me. But that's not the point," she went on staunchly. "We're talking about _you,_ and _your_ date. Or lack thereof." 

"It's not my fault if Richard hasn't asked me yet." Now Beth was annoyed. "He's very distracted right now." 

"He is also," said Melissa, "an idiot. The time has come for desperate measures." 

Beth knew what Melissa was going to say next and absolutely did not want to hear it. "Well -- maybe he already has a date." 

"Oh Beth, how could he _possibly_ have a date?" cried Melissa. "He never thinks about anything but the Ledger! You're going to have to take the first step!" 

"I don't want to!" wailed Beth. 

"Look," said Melissa firmly, taking her by the shoulders. "You want to go to the Yule Ball with Richard, right?" Beth nodded reluctantly. "Then you've got to go _do something about it._ He always shows up at breakfast a bit early to schmooze with the other prefects. Be there fifteen minutes earlier than usual and you'll have your chance." She held up her hands. "I know, that doesn't give you a lot of time for snogging, but that can come later." 

"Forget snogging," Beth sighed. "I'd settle for a dance." 

***

Beth had trouble sleeping. Her nerves woke her almost every hour on the hour, with a sudden unfounded fear that she had overslept and missed her chance at Richard. Finally she gave up around six in the morning and dragged herself to the shower, after which she did everything she could think of to make herself look prettier and judged none of them a success. 

She made her way down to the Great Hall forty-five minutes before she had intended, and sat there nursing a cup of tea and gathering her nerve for a good half-hour before Richard showed up. She calmed down as soon as she saw him. No need to get excited, she told herself, it's just Richard. 

She approached the prefect's table. 

"Beth!" Richard was one of those despicably chipper morning folks. "Good morning!" 

"Yeah, it is." She hesitated. "Sleep well?" You're putting it off, Melissa's voice sang in her mind. 

"Well enough. You?" 

"Fine." 

The time was at hand. She would have to spit it out now or die without having done it. She took a deep breath. "D'you ... do you have a date to the Yule Ball?" 

"I'm taking Gypsy," he said calmly. "We're going to go sneaking around in the Durmstrang ship while everyone's dancing, see if we can uncover something, you know?" 

"Oh," said Beth. Something cold twisted inside her. "That'll be good, then." 

"How about you, Beth? Who'll you be hanging out with?" 

For once in her life, Beth was too humiliated to blush. "I --" she began, lies circling in her head. 

Before she had to speak, Cedric Diggory came in to breakfast with his rucksack full of books. "Morning, Shaw." 

"Morning, old chap!" said Richard cheerily. "How's the dragon-slayer?" 

"I didn't actually slay it," said Diggory, rolling his eyes and sliding into his seat. 

Beth looked from one to the other. "Well," she said half-heartedly, "see you later." She turned and went back to the Slytherin table. 

That's where Melissa found her ten minutes later: with her head on the table completely buried in her arms. 

"Er ... Beth?" 

"I _really_ hate you," said Beth, voice muffled by her arms. 

"How come?" 

"He's already taking Gypsy to the ball," she said, not looking up. 

Melissa was silent for a minute. "Oh." They sat quietly for a few seconds, Melissa with her chin in her hands, Beth face-down on the table. "What about Josef, then?" 

"I keep _telling_ you, he's only doing it for the attention --" 

"And I've been trying to tell you," said Melissa, laying a hand on her arm, "that he hasn't asked anyone else." 

Beth raised her head from her arms. "What? Really?" 

Melissa held up one hand. "Honest. Bruce asked him about it yesterday. You're the only one he wants to go with. He said he'd go alone if you didn't eventually say yes. He even turned somebody down." 

"That idiot. Who was it?" 

"I don't know." Melissa shrugged. "I got all this through the grapevine, you know. I just think it makes your decision a lot easier, that's all." 

Beth stared helplessly at her best friend. "But --" A feeling that she had been suppressing all year came sputtering out. "But I'm _supposed_ to be going with Richard!" 

"And everyone knows it but him," Melissa said soothingly. "Remember rule number one?" 

"Boys are dumb," said Beth, with a hint of a smile. 

"Right," said Melissa. "You're going to show up at the ball in your best dress, I'll do your hair and makeup, and we're going to make him crazy with jealousy." 

"Except he's already crazy," they said together. Beth started to laugh. 

Melissa glanced over her shoulder. "Okay -- here comes Josef. You know what to do." She winked. "Good luck!" 

Luck was exactly what she was going to need, Beth thought. Josef looked like he had just gotten done inventing the world and was up for some lawn bowling. He bounded into the seat beside Beth. 

"Goot morning, Beth. You look disappointed." 

Beth was surprised -- first, because she thought she'd done a good job of hiding the fact, and second, because she never imagined that Josef would recognize what disappointment looked like. "Bad test grade," she lied. 

"Aha." Josef nodded like a sage psychiatrist. "T'e exams, they are alvays ruining my day." He tapped her mug with his wand and a smiley face appeared on top of the coffee. "Tell you vhat. I'll take you to the Yule Ball to cheer you up. Okh'ay?" 

Beth looked down at the happy face floating in her mug, and then up at Josef's beaming smile. 

"Okay." 

Josef's mouth dropped open. "Really?" 

Beth nodded. "Sure." 

Josef looked stunned. Then he broke into a grin. "Nyiuzhe'ly!" he said, and ran his hands through his hair as if he wasn't sure what to do next. "Goot! Great! I am a genius vith vomen!" he crowed down the table, and some of the Durmstrang students applauded. "So ... vant to meet in the Entrance Hall?" 

"That sounds good," said Beth. "Er ... how's quarter to eight?" 

Josef nodded vehemently. "Vonderful. I'll be the vone in the bright orange robes." At seeing Beth's expression, he nudged her playfully in the ribs. "Don't vorry. I'ff left my fox-fur hat at k'home." 

"Your ... what?" 

"See you!" said Josef cheerfully, and jogged off, exuberantly high-fiving the guys in his class. 

Beth watched him go. Then she turned to Melissa. "I'm going to the ball with a guy who owns a fox-fur hat," she said dully. 

Melissa beamed. "And I'm going with the son of my parents' worst enemy. Won't it be great?" 

'Great' wasn't exactly what Beth had in mind. 

***

Beth was not feeling very keen on Richard at present, but that didn't stop him from seeking her out on Christmas Eve to iron out the last several details of their great Yule Spy Operation. 

"The Ball officially begins at eight." He had his stack of papers on hand and the ink smudge was back on his cheek. "Dinner, followed by dancing. Gypsy and I are going to leave for the Durmstrang ship a little after the music starts. Let's say, nine o'clock." He ran his thumb absently over his cheekbone and Beth realized where the smudge came from. "Fifteen minutes to sneak out and fifteen minutes to sneak back in, plus we'd better be there for the last half-hour or so -- that leaves two hours to search every nook and cranny on that boat." 

"I'm sure Josef would just confess if you asked him," Beth deadpanned. 

"I'm sure Josef would confess to the defeat of Grindelwald if we asked him," Richard replied. He rubbed his forehead distractedly and got a streak of ink along there too. "Oren's going to be doing the Beauxbatons coach." He laughed suddenly. "He's positively thrilled about it." 

"He's very gung-ho on the Society," Beth agreed. 

"Oren's going to start the search right after all of us get into dinner. While he's searching, we'll be grilling our dates and the people around us. Dropping hints and things -- trying to see if any of them have something to hide. After the dancing ends we'll reconvene in the Vase Room at one o'clock and go over what we've found out." 

"For crying out loud, Richard," said Beth, "are you planning to have any _fun_ at the Yule Ball?" 

Richard looked scandalized. "I'm not going to the Yule Ball to have fun, I'm going for the Society. I mean, if I just wanted to have a good time, I'd be taking _you."_

Which left Beth feeling very much like punching him senseless. 

"In any case," he went on, without noting her expression, "we'll all have to be on top of our game. Beth, you and Mel will have a good chance to see if any of the Durmstrang boys have been sneaking off of the ship. Mervin will be grilling that Hufflepuff girl and Audra'll be with the Gryffindors, and ... is anyone covering those Beauxbatons people?" 

"Morag," said Beth tiredly, thinking that it sounded more like a reconnaissance mission than a school dance. 

"Right. Morag has Beaubatons, and Evan was going to skulk around in the corner as usual. Who's Blaise going with?" 

"I set her up with Little Puce," Beth reported. "That won't do any good. Aaron's the least suspicious person in the whole school." 

Richard's eyes narrowed. "We can't afford to ignore anyone." 

"Yes, we _can,"_ said Beth. She was getting tired of the whole thing. "_You_ didn't do it. _I_ didn't do it." 

Richard gave her a suspicious look. 

_"Richard!"_

"Okay, okay, you didn't take it," he agreed hastily. He propped his head on one fist. "What we really need is some Veritaserum." 

Beth threw up her hands. "Go on, rob Snape if you want to," she said, more loudly than she had intended. "I don't think it was anybody in the Society. But you're the president." She started to leave. 

"Beth -- wait --" 

She turned around. Richard looked uncharacteristically ashamed. 

"I'm sorry," he said, with some difficulty. "I didn't mean to accuse you. I don't think it was any one of us either ... but it was someone ... that makes me want to be sure about everyone." 

He was crestfallen and hopeful. Beth sat back down. 

"Maybe I just don't understand," she said slowly. "We hardly use the Ledger. I don't think I understand what someone would want with it." 

"You're right, we don't use it enough," Richard said. "But it's more than just our names -- there are spells in there, and historical records from way before Riddle even founded the Society, maps and instructions and things." He sighed and looked at his hands. "Whoever has it could find out everything about us. They'd know who we are, where we are and what we can do. Our whole history ..." 

Beth understood. That history, tainted with the ambitions of the Dark Lord, could be destructive to them all. 

***

It was late that night when Richard finally yawned, stretched, gathered his notes and headed off to bed. Everything had been prepared. There was nothing left to do but wait. He was, in fact, the only one in the house who was still working. The Slytherins spent the evening doing absolutely nothing -- which, compared to the whirlwind of the previous weeks, was an absolute relief. 

Beth found Bruce lounging on a long sofa, gazing contentedly at the flickering fire. He glanced up at her with a small, contented grin. 

"Richard's a bit excited, I take it." 

Beth slumped onto the sofa beside him. "He's so keyed up about finding the Ledger that he doesn't _care_ if it's the biggest dance in the history of Hogwarts." She sighed. "I think he's going to spike the punch with Veritaserum." 

"Wow. Thanks for the warning." 

"Just don't eat or drink anything if you hear Snape yelling that he was robbed." 

Bruce grinned. "Richard's getting as dangerous as the Weasley twins." 

"And he's just about as irritating," said Beth, although a little leap in her stomach chided her that she didn't really mean it. She decided to change the subject. "It wasn't nice of you, to let Blaise down like that." 

Bruce looked startled. "What was I supposed to do? Take two girls to the ball?" 

Beth was agog. "You mean you really do have a date?" 

"Yes, I really do have a date." Bruce reddened but held his ground. "You think I just made it up to shake off Blaise?" 

"You did it last year." 

"No," said Bruce, "I conned you into asking me before Blaise did. No lying, just manipulation. Big difference." 

"So you really have a date." 

Bruce laughed. "You sound surprised." 

Beth blinked. "Actually, I was sort of thinking you were going to be a perpetual bachelor." 

"Thanks for the confidence." 

"Well --" Beth leaned back into the plush upholstery. "It's just that, you know, you never really showed any interest in ..." 

"Girls?" Bruce grinned. 

"Anything but Quidditch." Beth smiled at her friend. "Last year, you kept acting like you were terrified to go to Hogsmeade with Blaise. And you know," she said, "I had a crush on you all first year, and kept waiting for you to do something about it, but you never even glanced at me that way." 

Bruce looked at her in surprise. "Really?" 

Beth nodded. "Broke my little firstie heart." 

"Oh." Bruce grinned ruefully. "Sorry about that. As for Blaise, I only didn't want to go with her because all she'd want to do was run around spying after Draco and Pansy. Actually, she might just do that all night at the Yule Ball, too -- date or no date." 

"Date," said Beth. "I set her up with Little Puce. But back to _your_ partner -- who is she?" 

"One of the Ravenclaw Chasers." Bruce smiled sheepishly. "Kiesha Bundy. The one who kept scoring on me at the scrimmage, remember? She asked me after the match on Saturday." 

Beth grinned. "So I suppose you're going to be talking Quidditch all night." 

"Don't be ridiculous." Bruce grinned back. "I'm not letting any bloody Ravenclaw in on my tactics." 

Beth laughed and patted his shoulder. "That's the spirit." She stood up and stretched. "Get to bed, Brucey. It's Christmas Eve -- nobody gets presents until everyone's asleep." 

Bruce yawned and then slowly stood up. "Makes me wish I had the Ledger." 

Beth looked at him in surprise. 

"I'd wrap it up and put it on Richard's bed like a Christmas present." He grinned mischievously. "You could hear him scream from the other side of the castle!" 

~~~~~~~~   
Nyiuzhe'ly = wow   
I actually know a guy with a fox-fur hat. He got it in Mongolia; it looks like a dead fox is sitting on his head, which is pretty much what it consists of. Apparently it's very warm in the winter. 


	12. The Yule Ball

**Chapter Twelve: The Yule Ball**

Christmas morning started out with a very excited atmosphere that promised to only increase as the day went on. The girls opened their presents in their pajamas and then hurried to the common room for the traditional showing off. Beth never had much to say in this category, since her father was frugal and the Scamanders never sent her anything but books and clothing, but this year she awoke to find a silver pendant necklace from Lycaeon among her gifts. 

The day passed very pleasantly. Holiday cheer and a delicious anticipation of the evening combined to leave everyone feeling warm and friendly. Even Blaise seemed to be enjoying herself, and when Draco started in on how lavish his father's Christmas parties usually were, she smiled and nodded and let him carry on without very much of her usual sarcasm. 

At around five o'clock, Beth and Melissa and most of the rest of the girls left to go get ready for the ball. (The boys stuck around in the common room making fun of them for it.) 

Antigone had been dressed since two that afternoon; she lounged in the common room, striking in silky green robes, enjoying the attention of those too dumb to keep from staring at her. Melissa stopped to talk as they passed by. 

"I'm going to use your bobby pins in Beth's hair," Melissa told her. "And I'll need the bureau mirror, so stay out." 

Antigone twirled a finger lazily around one end of her green shawl. "You're going to make over _her?"_ she purred. "Don't you think you should've started a bit earlier?" 

Beth started to make an angry reply, but Melissa broke in: "Why Antigone -- you _are_ planning to conceal that pimple, aren't you?" 

Antigone let out a horrified gasp and bolted for the powder room. 

"I _told_ her to stay out," Melissa sighed. 

"You're brilliant," smiled Beth. 

"I know," said Melissa. "Now let's get upstairs -- I've got a lot of work to do." 

***

_"Ouch!"_

"Stop twitching your head!" Melissa ordered, twisting Beth's hair even more tightly. 

"Stop pulling my scalp off!" Beth bellowed. "What're you -- _ow_ -- doing up there?" 

Melissa jammed a few well-placed bobby pins into Beth's hair and waved her wand over the whole thing. Beth felt her hair instantly stiffen up. She felt the top of it gingerly. It was as if she was wearing a hat made of rather stringy cement. 

"It's a French twist," said Melissa, in a no-nonsense sort of way, "and people with long necks look very nice in it." She deftly threaded some blue flowers through the ensemble. "You're going to be gorgeous if it kills me." 

"You're _going_ to kill _me,"_ Beth grumbled. 

"Beauty requires sacrifice," Melissa said shortly. She went to her dresser and pulled out a compact, then came and sat in front of Beth, eyeing her face intently. Finally she flipped open the compact and said, "Blush. Desert rose." 

The powder in the compact faded from white to a rusty pink. 

"That's actually kind of neat," Beth admitted, while Melissa was brushing the powder onto her cheeks. 

"Don't talk, you'll smear it!" Melissa ordered. "Eye shadow, dark. Mmm ... olive brown. Close your eyes. This one's not the best one out there, it doesn't have all the newer colors ... Pansy has one of those, but I just don't _like_ this season's colors, and I already know what works on me ... Eye shadow, light. Pale brown. Quit _twitching!"_

"I have an itch on my nose," said Beth between her teeth. 

Melissa let out an impatient huff. "Go on, scratch it." Beth obliged. "All right now, don't move. We've got to get eyeliner and lipstick on you ..." 

Melissa spent another half hour on hair and makeup before she let Beth even change into her robes. Temporarily deprived of her job, she contented herself with offering advice about how to act. 

"When you're spooning the soup, scoop outward," she emphasized, tugging on her own purple robes. "Do _not_ forget to put your napkin on your lap. I will _never_ forgive you ... will you reach this button for me?" 

Beth reached over and fastened her friend's robes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make you look bad." 

"You had better not," Melissa sniffed, missing the irony entirely. She adjusted her robes at the shoulder and hip. "Try not to leave lipstick stains on the goblets ..." 

She stopped and looked critically at Beth. "We have to do something about that rash." 

"It's getting better," said Beth defensively. The itching had entirely stopped, and there was little more than a reddish blotch where the bumps had been. 

"Better or no, it's still not attractive," said Melissa. She sat down heavily on the end of her bed. "If only there was some way to cover it ..." She snapped her fingers. "I've got it!" 

***

"They _itch,"_ Beth griped. She tugged at the end of one of the elbow-length gloves that had been unceremoniously shoved onto her arms. 

"They're better than letting that horrid ivy show," said Melissa. She had finished her own makeup and was putting last-minute touches on her hair. "Besides, they emphasize your nice trim arms." 

Beth, who had never noticed her own supposedly trim arms, glanced them over and decided that Melissa was right. 

"Let's go over the basics again. Silverware is used from the outside in. Don't butter all of your bread at once." She picked up her purse and started stuffing it with bobby pins, amulets, and makeup cases. "And let's see ... under _no_ circumstances should you talk with your -- _aiiiii!"_

Bruce had poked his head around the door. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. "Anybody naked in here?" he called. 

"Lucky for you, no," said Melissa scathingly. She bent down and gathered the things she had dropped when she screamed. "What are you doing here?" 

Bruce opened his eyes but still didn't quite dare to intrude into the female territory. "It's Warrington. He's had a panic attack -- punched a wall -- it hurt, of course, and when he stumbled back he tripped over Mervin and knocked his face on the bedpost." 

"Oh no!" said Melissa. "Poor Warrington." 

"Yeah, I know," said Bruce. "Mervin banged his head off the ground, by the way, and he's still out cold. But Warrington's face is blooming like a battlefield -- black and blue, not even to mention all the blood --" 

"He can_not_ meet Antigone like that," Melissa said decisively. 

Bruce looked relieved. "Exactly. You've got to come over and fix him up. This is an emergency." He glanced at Beth for the first time; then he did a double-take and his eyes widened. "Holy _cow,_ Beth." 

Beth let out a wail and bolted towards the mirror. "Is it that bad?" 

"No --" Bruce shook his head swiftly. "No, you look great." He fixed his attention on Melissa again. _"Please."_

Melissa nodded. "I am on my way. _Accio."_ Her entire supply of makeup flew back into the open purse. She closed the clasp and hurried after Bruce. 

For the first time all day, Beth was left alone in the dormitory. She approached the full-length mirror nervously. _What's it going to be?_ she thought. _Cinderella or an ugly stepsister?_

It was neither. There had been no magical change; there was the same old Parson chin, the eyes that she swore were a little crooked, and -- sure enough -- a few strands of bushy blonde hair had absolutely refused to cooperate. But Melissa's efforts had come to something. She looked prettier -- she _felt_ prettier. It occurred to her that maybe those were the same thing. 

"She did you up well," the mirror said approvingly. 

Beth turned from side to side. The hem of her robes spun around her ankles. "I guess so," she agreed softly. Then she straightened, strode over to her bed and stuffed her wand into a pocket of her dress robes. "Come on, Parson, let's get this done with," she told herself firmly, and went down the hall to join the rest of her class. 

The common room was awash with color and slightly warm from the many milling bodies. Beth fought through the crowd to where Aaron, Mervin, Bruce, and Melissa huddled together, all peering anxiously in the same direction. 

"Hush!" said Melissa, before Beth had a chance to say a word. "He's about to do it--" 

Beth looked across the common room just in time to see Warrington lean over a sofa and extend a hand to Antigone. She took it and came gracefully to her feet. Warrington stood there a moment, gaping; then he very hesitantly offered her his arm and the two of them moved toward the door. 

His classmates let out a collective sigh of relief. "We didn't think he'd actually go through with it," Bruce confided. "We were taking bets ..." 

"Mervin owes me seven Galleons," Aaron said gleefully. 

"I say!" said Melissa. "Here come the fourth-years." 

The fourth-years came down together, Pansy and Draco at the fore. Crabbe and Goyle, somewhat alarmingly, wore matching moss-green robes, and flanked their leader as if those positions had been natural to them since birth. Morag was done up in fine Highland style. Blaise, near him, glanced around the common room before she spotted Aaron and made her way over to him. Her hair was done differently, and there was a hint of makeup around her features, but maybe she hadn't had the benefit of Pansy helping her; she still looked quite plain. 

"Hi, Aaron," she said shyly. 

Aaron turned and gave her a nervous grin. "Oh, hi --" He broke off, and a rush of panic flashed through his eyes. It was covered quickly. "You look lovely." 

Blaise smiled, and both cheeks dimpled. "Thanks. You too. I mean -- you look -- quite nice." 

"Quite right," said Aaron cheerfully. "Go along then, I'll meet you soon." 

"All right," said Blaise, and went back to Pansy and Draco. 

Instantly, Aaron turned to Beth with the panic back in his face. "_Quick,_ Beth -- what's her name again?" 

Melissa let out a horrified giggle. "Blaise," Beth told him. "Like the fire, only with a soft 's'. Don't worry, you'll do fine." 

"Right." Aaron straightened the collar of his robes. "Well -- I'm off ..." He strode up to Blaise, who looked gratified, and the two of them queued up behind Warrington and Antigone. 

At the stroke of quarter to eight, Draco and Pansy led the rest of the Slytherins up through the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall. The sight was spectacular. Everywhere, students both foreign and domestic were mingling and chatting, wearing robes of all colors and textures. Even the professors were decked out: Professor McGonagall wore thistles and tartan, and Professor Sinistra had brought out her famous "planetary hat", with a brim as wide as the rings of Saturn. 

"Well," said Mervin gloomily, "let the games begin." 

Mervin bore a vivid purple bruise on his forehead. It seemed that Melissa hadn't had time to fix him up after taking care of Warrington. 

"You first," Beth told him. "The Hufflepuffs are right over there." 

The Hufflepuffs were gathered in the mouth of their corridor. Cedric stood with Cho Chang at the front of them, tall and smiling and handsome, looking every bit their natural king. 

Mervin nodded, swallowed hard, and went over to sort out which girl was his. She found him first; in muted yellow robes, she looked invitingly warm and pleasant. They exchanged nervous smiles and stood there awkwardly for several minutes, chatting sporadically. 

Finally the wooden doors to the Entrance Hall swung open. The Durmstrangers, with Professor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum at the fore, entered to a roomful of curious stares. Viktor was with a girl in blue robes that Beth had never seen before; she presumed they must have met up outside. Indeed, the stone steps and adjoining land were now filled with benches, columns and rosebush topiary -- it would be an elegant meeting place, and a quiet space to walk in if the ball itself became too much. Beth thought about finding Colin Creevey and having him take a picture of her and Josef somewhere amid that rosebush grotto. 

Viktor and his date joined the other champions at Professor McGonagall's command. Potter was accompanied by a beautiful black-haired girl. They stood aside as the wide doors opened; the students who were already paired up began to file into the Great Hall, and the Durmstrangers dispersed quickly to find their partners among the crowds. 

Maria-Regina spotted Mervin with his date; she strode past them with her head held high and her dark eyes sparkling coldly. Mervin swallowed hard and ducked behind his date a bit as she passed. 

Gypsy wore flowing robes of scarlet and gold; her dark eyes and hair were accentuated magnificently by large gold earrings. Cheerfully, Richard dropped her a formal bow. Gypsy curtsied in return and took his elbow, and they swept out of the Entrance Hall like a pair of aristocrats. 

Beth tore her eyes away from them and set to work finding her own date. She located Josef Poliakoff in the very back of the Durmstrang group. To her great relief, Josef wore neither bright orange robes nor a fox-fur hat. His dress robes were a dark gray, neatly tailored, and looked more or less like everybody else's. He was craning his neck around the hall, looking a bit lost, so she approached and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hi." 

Josef was struck dumb for just a moment. Then he bent and showily kissed the back of her hand. _"Krasivi,"_ he declared grandly. 

"Er -- thank you," said Beth, uncertainly. "What does that mean?" 

Josef offered her his arm. "It means t'at I am starvink. Shall ve?" 

"Sure." Beth took his arm and they went into the Great Hall. 

The Great Hall was a masterpiece of ivy, pine boughs and mistletoe, all sprinkled with the glimmer of real faeries. The enchanted ceiling shimmered with stars and candles; not a cloud crossed the clear winter sky. Instead of the four long house tables, dozens of small, round tables dotted the Great Hall, each one of them lit by a gently glowing lantern. They joined Melissa and Andrei and a handful of other Slytherins in a corner where their house table usually was. 

Josef made a huge show of pulling out Beth's chair for her. Then he pulled out Melissa's, and Andrei's, and the rest of the unoccupied chairs just as a precaution. He had barely taken a seat again when applause began, then roared to life. The champions and their partners had lined up in pairs and were now following Professor McGonagall up the center of the Great Hall to the judges' table, now fantastically decked out in gold, silk and shimmering faeries. 

"Charming outfit of Mr. Bagman's," Melissa murmured to Bruce. Ludo Bagman wore brilliant purple robes with, Beth thought, offensively yellow stars. 

Bruce's date, the frizzy-haired, brown-skinned Chaser, laughed, then stopped self-consciously. Bruce gave her a nervous, encouraging smile before turning back to Melissa. "Nice of your boy Crouch to show up," he muttered back. 

Mr. Crouch was not at the judges' table. In his place sat the oldest Weasley. 

Melissa scowled but did not make a reply. 

The hall had fallen silent, watching the head table to see what to do next. Beth expected Dumbledore to stand up and make another one of his cheery, sometimes cryptic speeches -- but all he did was pick up his menu, glance through it, and say, "Pork chops!" very clearly to his plate. 

_Aha,_ Beth thought. The menus had worked the same way at Melissa's dinner party the previous year. Everyone ordered their meals and dug in (it had been some seven hours since lunch). 

Bruce's date was the only one at the table who Beth had never met. That made her the most interesting person to talk to. Beth and Melissa spent the first half of dinner getting to know her -- "checking her out for Bruce," as they had agreed to do earlier that day. She passed all inspections. Kiesha, as she was called, turned out to be quite funny and friendly, once the ice was broken. They chatted about classes and about the Beauxbatons students, whom the Slytherins rarely associated with but whom Kiesha had gotten to know very well. 

"They teach us French at breakfast," Kiesha told them, dimples in her cheeks. "All of the boys are mad about Fleur, I mean they'd do anything for her." 

"I have to ask," said Melissa, leaning across the table. "That boy who kept trying to ask out Antigone von Dervish. Who is he?" 

Kiesha grinned. "His name is Lionel D'Armant. He thinks she's part veela -- and his classmates keep trying to convince him she's all snob." She broke off, apparently remembering that Antigone was in the same house as Beth and Melissa. "No offense." 

They assured her that no offense was taken, as everybody agreed with her analysis completely. 

"But did he ask anyone else to the ball?" Beth asked. 

Kiesha peered around the Great Hall before pointing to a table in the corner. "No. There he is. And if you'll follow his gaze ..." 

They all turned. He was glaring across the room at Antigone and Warrington, eyes narrowed. One of them was ringed in black and blue. 

The leisurely dinner was followed by hot drinks and more small talk. When everyone seemed to be finished eating (except, Beth noticed, for Crabbe and Goyle who were two tables away), Dumbledore stood and asked the students to follow. A flick of his wand cleared the tables and chairs to the edges of the room; another created a raised platform along one wall. The stage was littered with instruments: guitars, bagpipes, drums, and several less-recognizable articles of music. 

There was an expectant hush. Then, whoops, whistles and wild applause broke out as one by one the Weird Sisters took their positions on stage. Beth had only heard their songs on the W.W.N; she had no idea they'd be so -- well, _scuzzy._ With long hair, torn robes and leather, Beth thought they would not look out of place in a cell in Azkaban. 

They began to play a slow song and all the lights went out except for the lanterns at the head table. The champions and their partners stood up and went to the dance floor. They paired off and began to move in time to the music. Harry Potter looked quite uncomfortable, but he didn't do anything wrong, and before the end of the song so many other couples filled the dance floor that you couldn't see him through them all. 

"Who's that dancing with Viktor?" Melissa murmured to Andrei. 

"He said her name vos Hermy-own," Andrei murmured back. 

Melissa glanced at Beth. "Hermione Granger?" she said, with interest. "I thought she was dating the little Weasley. Obviously her taste in men has improved ..." 

The song ended and everyone applauded. The Weird Sisters began a fast song and the dancing began in earnest. 

"Come on," said Melissa, tugging at Beth, Andrei and Josef simultaneously, "let's dance!" 

It took Beth a few songs to really get the hang of the dancing, but she soon found herself enjoying it -- especially after she realized that no one was really looking at her but her friends. She paired off with Josef most of the time, as it was only fair; but she had a chance to dance with Andrei, who was good if a little stiff, and Aaron, who was downright horrible. She didn't ask to dance with Bruce as he and Kiesha seemed to be having such a good time together. 

She and Josef had just finished learning the two-step from Professors Moody and Vector (Beth trying to ignore how Moody kept casting very suspicious looks at her elbow-length gloves) when the fast song ended and the Weird Sisters started in on another slow number. Beth and Josef looked at each other. 

"Thirsty?" said Josef. 

"Yeah," said Beth, fanning her face. 

One of the tables along the wall was filled with chilled bottles of butterbeer. They each took one and stood around watching the couples still on the floor. Melissa was dancing with Andrei, apparently without a thought of Galen in her head. Mervin had taken to the floor with the Hufflepuff girl and looked like he was actually enjoying himself. Warrington and Antigone were nowhere to be seen. Richard and Gypsy were likewise gone, although Beth knew where they'd be -- tearing up the Durmstrang ship in an attempt to find the missing Ledger. She forced away the thought of them with another sip of butterbeer. 

"Good evenink, Headmaster," Josef said. 

Professor Karkaroff was standing near the drinks with a vastly unpleasant expression on his face. He looked them up and down. 

"Well, Poliakoff," sneered Karkaroff, his weak chin suddenly uglier than ever. "I am surprised to see that you've found a dance partner." 

Beth opened her mouth indignantly, but Josef smiled and bowed at the waist. "And I, Headmaster, am unsurprised to see that you haff none." 

He took Beth's arm and whisked her away before the sneer had even fallen from Karkaroff's face. 

They didn't stop until they were halfway across the ballroom. "He's going to kill you for that," Beth gasped, with a glance back at Karkaroff. The headmaster was beet-red and muttering to himself while brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "You're really -- uh -- Josef?" 

Josef was doing a jig in front of the punch bowl. A handful of students had stopped dancing to watch. "Yes?" 

"Aren't you --" Beth's attempts to keep eye contact with the bobbing boy fell short. "Aren't you going to get in trouble for mouthing off like that?" 

"Nothink I say vill change k'his opinion of me," Josef said breezily. "Come on, t'is is easy." Without warning, he whisked away her butterbeer and grabbed both of Beth's hands. "Just up -- down -- kick, spin, kick --" 

"I--" The blood rushed to Beth's cheeks. "I can't --" 

"Course you can!" Josef roared. "Come on now, do as I do ..." He whirled her around until she broke down laughing ... and by the end of the song she was jigging as well as he. 

The music stopped with a long guitar chord, which went crashing into a percussion beat. On stage, the lead guitarist was raising both hands for the attention of the crowd. He waited until the students were mostly silent. Then he shouted: 

"Merry Christmas, 'Ogwaaaaaaarts!" 

The crowd roared. 

"Hope you're enjoyin' the Triwizard Tournament." Cheers of affirmation. "I hear your 'eadmaster was excited to be hostin' the event, seein' as he won the first one about a thousand years ago." 

The students laughed. Across the room, Dumbledore raised his glass to them with a smile. 

"Really, it's wonderful to be back at 'Ogwarts. Spent the best nine years of me life here." 

More laughter. 

"I just wanted to let you know who we are up here entertainin' you all tonight. On bass tonight -- Donaghan Trewlett!" 

Donaghan, a handsome black man with a moustache overtop a devilish grin, played a few deft bass lines. 

"On drums for you, we have -- Nick Montenegro!" 

Nick bashed his percussion around to wild applause. 

"And I'm Kirley McCormack." He set off into a long and extremely impressive solo on his guitar. "We're the Weird Sisters -- now let's get back in the music, eh?" 

The students cheered enthusiastically and the band started up another song. 

Long afterward, Beth couldn't remember much from the evening other than the facts that she danced a lot and enjoyed herself. She wasn't the only one. Bruce barely left Kiesha's side the entire night -- which, Melissa remarked smugly, was a "very good sign." Mervin was sighted laughing at a joke from his Hufflepuff partner. This was spread around with great interest as Mervin didn't laugh a lot at anything. Even Maria-Regina seemed to be having fun; after glaring at Mervin got old, she agreed to dance with one of the Beauxbatons boys, and made her rounds happily with the male students. 

Midway through one of the fast songs, Donaghan Trewlett took out a lace-edged handkerchief, mopped his face with it, and tossed it into the crowd. Blaise Zabini caught it and promptly fainted. Aaron Pucey, completely at a loss for what to do, finally whistled for Crabbe and Goyle to pick her up and haul her over to one of the tables, where he very gingerly held a cold butterbeer to her forehead until she recovered. Then she noticed the kerchief in her hand and fainted again. 

Later on in the evening Josef roused his male colleagues and they put on a voracious folk dance in a circle in the center of the floor. Viktor didn't join in; he stood with Hermione Granger in the crowd, clapping along with the music and looking happier than he had since arriving at Hogwarts. He'd been a regular chatterbox all evening. 

Finally the Weird Sisters announced the last song of the evening, to the disappointment of the crowd, and launched into an achingly mournful slow song. Josef turned to Beth, face flushed slightly, perhaps from dancing. She expected him to make some jest -- but he simply said, "Vant to dance?" 

His face was calmer and quieter than Beth had ever seen it. "All right," she said, and allowed him to lead her further onto the dance floor. He took one of her hands in his own and put the other around her waist -- not gingerly, she thought, but _carefully._ They began to move in time to the music. Josef's lead was slow and sure, not at all pushy, but certain and self-assured. 

She glanced up to see Josef gazing back at her. For no reason at all, she blushed and looked away. Josef let out a short, embarrassed laugh and looked away too. Feeling suddenly that she didn't want to look Josef in the eye, Beth kept her gaze on the other couples. A swirl of scarlet and gold caught her eye. 

Richard and Gypsy were back from the Durmstrang ship, but neither looked like the spy mission was on their mind at all. They were dancing. Beth knew that they both came from good families, but it had never showed so much as now -- their waltz was easy and fluent, so refined that some people were standing aside to watch. They seemed perfect in each other's arms, and Beth could not fail to notice Gypsy's eyes as she gazed at her partner ... or Richard's, as he looked back. 

Beth flushed red and looked down at her feet, and suddenly became conscious again of the hand that held her own. Watching Richard and Gypsy, she had forgotten that she was even in the arms of a boy. 

"Beth ..." 

She looked up at Josef a little abashedly. "Yes?" 

Josef opened his mouth uncertainly -- he glanced down and back again. "This vos a nice ball," he finally said. 

Beth forced herself to keep from looking across the room at Richard. "It was," she agreed. "We've never had anything like this at Hogwarts ... well, the Halloween feasts sometimes, but that's different." _Oh Parson,_ she thought to herself, _how much stupider can your conversation actually_ get? 

Josef, however, did not appear phased. He was still regarding her closely -- _why won't he look away?_ Beth thought in despair -- and seemed to be working up the courage to say something. Finally he tried again. 

"Beth, I ..." 

The music ended. 

The dancers stopped and a great swell of enthusiastic cheers and applause rose up from the Great Hall. The lights grew brighter. Josef and Beth looked at each other, then broke apart with a little laugh. "Well," said Beth, suddenly pink, "that was fun." 

"It vos," Josef said. 

In the Entrance Hall they paused again, stood there awkwardly for a moment, both said "Goodnight" at roughly the same time, and parted ways. 

Beth hung around in the common room waiting for Melissa to get back. She arrived a few minutes later, with a rose in her hair that Andrei had picked for her from the enchanted grotto. Bruce came in not far behind. He cast each of them a very brief, guilty look -- flushed pink -- and hurried upstairs with no more than a muttered "G'night." 

Melissa raised her eyebrows and a thin smile reached her lips. "Looks to me like Mr. Bletchley had a good time, hm?" 

Beth blushed brightly on Bruce's behalf. "Come on, you have to help me get out of this dress," she said, and the two of them went upstairs to change. 

Melissa, true to form, had spent most of the night hobnobbing with anybody in the area; she brought back plenty of gossip, and one or two tidbits that might be of greater use than just dinner conversation. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies had apparently been "very friendly" towards the end of the night. So had Hagrid and Madame Maxime. ("Well, who didn't see _that_ coming?" Beth shrugged, tugging at the bobby pins scattered through her hair.) Karkaroff and Snape were seen speaking at several points during the night, but nobody thought it looked like Snape was enjoying it. Dumbledore had proven himself an excellent dancer, but by the end of the night, nobody wanted to be near Moody because of some creepy remark about someone's socks. 

Antigone swept in then. The tiara was slightly askance on her gorgeous hair, and her cheeks glowed pink. She had never looked happier. 

"How was your evening?" Melissa grinned. 

Antigone beamed. "I never knew that Warrington was such a _gentleman,"_ she breathed. She started down the corridor to the girls' powder room. "Or so talented." 

Beth and Melissa stared at each other. Antigone glided off to the powder room with her shawl trailing like the wind. A few rose petals drifted from her hair and landed gently on the floor. 

***

It was all Beth could do to stay awake until one o'clock. When the hour finally came she was nearly too drowsy to get back out of bed; nonetheless, she forced herself vertical and struggled downstairs with Melissa to the S.S.A. meeting that Richard had so thoughtfully scheduled for that night. 

Richard was there in the common room. He still wore his dress robes, but carelessly, as if it had been more comfortable for him to leave them on. Beth felt impossibly scruffy in blue jeans next to him. Her mind flashed back to the sight of him and Gypsy, elegant in an elaborate waltz, and she had to look away. 

"Oren's search of the Beauxbatons carriage didn't turn up anything," he told them, even as they were slipping out the common room door. "But Evan's saying he heard plenty of suspicious mutterings -- not telling me anything of course, but maybe there's something in there, we'll pry it all out of him --" 

Richard was so excited and so full of news that he didn't stop whispering until they reached the Vase Room. They weren't the first ones there. 

Evan met them at the door. "It wasn't Ginny Weasley who took the Ledger." 

"Really!" Richard looked delighted. "How do you know?" 

"I kept an eye on her all night," said Evan coolly, still not moving from the very entrance to the Vase Room. "She didn't go anywhere." 

He let them inside. Something was wrong. 

"Salazar's cauldron, the one we make the rings from. It's gone." 

~~~~~~~~   
Goes to show how much I know about makeup. You're supposed to put on the eyeliner /before/ the eye shadow.   
Beth couldn't have found Colin Creevey for a photo even if she'd remembered to try -- he's only a third-year, and not invited. 


	13. Professor Grubbly Plank

**Chapter Thirteen: Professor Grubbly-Plank**

The week after the Yule Ball was every bit as interesting as the one before it. 

For one thing, there was the matter of the stolen cauldron. After frantically questioning every member and searching every inch of the Vase Room, Richard had to admit that it was gone without a trace. The very next day, both he and Gypsy came down with the flu. He spent most of the rest of holiday bedridden with smoke from his ears gathering in the canvas roof of his four-poster. Beth loaned him her entire collection of paperback novels to pass the time, and they had quite a few interesting conversations along those lines. 

The romance of Warrington and Antigone Von Dervish was the juiciest bit of gossip since Draco had been turned into a ferret. The pairing had everyone astonished. Antigone had dated a lot of boys since first year, but Beth had never seen her actually fall for one. Now that she finally had, she had fallen hard. Warrington, for his part, was going around in a state of perpetual bliss. What few brain cells he had were completely occupied (which made him difficult to talk to, but fun to play Gobstones with). 

Bruce was getting along with Viktor better than ever. At breakfast on New Year's Day he gave Viktor a sign to hang on his table in the library that read "Krum's Korner." Viktor laughed and politely declined, but Josef took it to hang on his bunk on the ship. Then he asked Beth for a waltz, which she refused on the grounds that there was no music, so he broke into song. Most of his classmates joined in -- including Viktor, who was more cheerful than he had been all year. 

Those of Beth's classmates who had already turned seventeen were hustled off to take their Apparation tests early in January. Nobody heard from them all day. Finally, late that evening, Melissa burst into the bedroom, looking terribly excited. "Oh Beth, it was _horrible!_ You should've been there!" 

Beth, propped on her elbows overtop of Vision in the Vernacular, glanced up warily. "What happened?" 

"We all went to take our Apparation tests, you know ... one by one ... and Beth -- Warrington _splinched!"_

Beth gasped. "Oh no! Really?" 

"Yes, it was awful, he left behind both legs and an eyeball, and the rest of him showed up half a block down from where he was supposed to be! It was gruesome, just like they told us about in class!" 

"Is he all right?" 

Melissa waved her hand in the air. "Oh yes, once they found all the parts they put him back together -- they're keeping him overnight at St. Mungo's and he's got to wear an eye patch for a few weeks, but he'll be fine." She shuddered. "Good thing he went last, though. If he'd gone before I wouldn't have had the nerve to try it." 

Beth wasn't sure she would have had the nerve to try it at all. 

***

Warrington came back from St. Mungo's on the morning of the first day of the new term. At lunch he was made a great deal of, both by Antigone who looked like she thought he would die and all the little firsties, who thought his injuries made him the coolest thing imaginable. They did have a point. Warrington was a pretty formidable character either way you looked at it, but the eye patch made him look downright deadly. 

The firsties were practically swarming over him when the fourth-years, wet from the knee down with snow, tromped inside from Care of Magical Creatures. They all looked mightily pleased with themselves. 

"Good lesson?" Beth asked, eyebrows raised. 

"Faith, an' t'was the best lesson we ever had," said Morag cheerily. His cheeks were red with cold. "Tho' the bairns nivver tiched the beastie." 

Beth glanced at Blaise for a translation. "The boys never touched the beast," she explained. "The unicorn, that is. But that's not why the lesson was so good anyway." 

"Then why --" Beth began. 

Blaise held out a copy of the Daily Prophet. 

"'Dumbledore's Giant Mistake'?" Beth read. "'Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments ...'" She scanned the first paragraph quickly. "This is no worse than that article over the summer that called him a dingbat." 

"It doesn't matter what she says about Dumbledore," said Blaise impatiently. "Read what she says about _Hagrid_." 

The first several paragraphs were devoted to making both Mad-Eye Moody and Hagrid look as vicious as possible. There was also a great deal about the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Beth snorted back a laugh when she came to a quotation from Draco Malfoy. 

"Crabbe got a bad bite off a _flobberworm?"_

Blaise shushed her quickly. "It was Vincent's idea," she said. "He was so proud of himself for coming up with it ..." 

Beth went back to the article. About halfway down she stopped -- read the line again -- scanned the rest of the article quickly and then came back to the one sentence. Upon one word hinged the entire article: _giant._ She put down the paper and looked over at Blaise in frank surprise. 

"Is it true?" 

Blaise was scornful. "Of course it is -- just _look_ at him!" 

Beth shot a glance at the head table, but Hagrid was not there. 

"He wasn't in class either," Blaise said gleefully. "We've got a substitute teacher and everything. Professor Grubbly-Plank. She brought in a unicorn -- it was really great, especially since none of the Gryffindors had read the article yet. They were _really mad_." Blaise hadn't looked so happy all year. "Who knows? We might end up having her for the rest of the year!" She took back the Daily Prophet and rejoined her classmates, who were having a celebratory toast at the end of the table. 

***

Beth got a chance to experience Professor Grubbly-Plank for herself the next day. The witch was small and wiry, with short gray hair and a mole on her extremely prominent chin. She met them outside Hagrid's cabin and led them past the Beauxbatons carriage to the edge of the forest. There stood not one but two pure white unicorns, as shimmering and lovely as the snow around their hooves. 

"Boys, keep your distance!" Professor Grubbly-Plank barked, as they reached the trees where the two beasts were tethered. "Unicorns will prefer the ladies' touch." 

The Gryffindor girls crowded around one of the unicorns, and Beth and Melissa approached the other. Antigone hung back, clinging to Warrington's hand, haughtily deaf to taunts from the Gryffindor boys. 

The unicorn was magnificent and regal, tossing its head anxiously at the approach of the humans. Beth was afraid to touch it -- not because it seemed dangerous, but because it was so pure, so good and powerful, that she somehow felt awkward and unworthy just being near it. 

"Lovely, aren't they?" said Melissa blithely. She reached up and began to stroke the creature's nose. "I've seen loads of them but I'm always impressed ... come on, you can touch it, you know!" 

Gingerly Beth reached out and laid a hand on the unicorn's smooth white flank. The flesh was warm, the hair silkier than that of an ordinary horse. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank wandered over from the other unicorn. "The hair, horn and blood of the unicorn are all extremely powerful magical substances," she was saying loudly, so the boys could hear too. "Bones and hooves a little less. The hair goes into most wand cores -- though I 'spect you know about that," she said to Melissa, who looked pleased at being recognized. "Quite perceptive, unicorns. Can tell instantly about people. The trade in blood's quite heavily watched so you'll have a job finding any ... 'course there's always Knockturn Alley!" she added cheerfully, and let out a harsh laugh that sounded much like the bray of a donkey. Beth and Melissa, who were the closest, winced. 

The lecture was actually very interesting once you got past the aggravating way Professor Grubbly-Plank delivered it. She finished several minutes before the end of class, allowing the girls to croon over the unicorns and the boys to be jealous of them several yards away. She joined Beth and Melissa and began to scratch the unicorn's ears. 

"Ain't they lovely?" she said offhandedly, rubbing the unicorn's snout in a rough, affectionate way. 

"Spectacular," said Melissa. Beth nodded her agreement. 

Still rubbing the unicorn's snout, Professor Grubbly-Plank leaned over the creature's flank until she was nose-to-nose with Beth and Melissa. "How'd you enjoy my Amulet of Eclipse?" 

For a moment, Beth had no idea what she was talking about. Then she remembered -- both she and Melissa stopped and stared at their substitute teacher. "The --" Beth started, and only then noticed the S.S.A. ring on their professor's finger. "The one we used at the end of last year, to break into ... er, the one that we borrowed ... that was yours?" 

Professor Grubbly-Plank drew back nodded proudly. "Sure is -- least, as long as I can keep Bode and Croaker's paws off of it." 

A light clicked on in Beth's head. "You're Grubbs!" 

The elderly witch let out a little sigh. "Yes, if those two Cockneys would have their way." She rolled her eyes. "Incorrigible. But aside from them, I was glad for the loan -- it's good to know the Society's keeping busy." 

Beth thought of all they had done in the past three years, and the empty podium where the Ledger should have rested. "Oh yes," she said. "Definitely busy." 

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded in brusque satisfaction. "Just as well. The devil will find work for idle Slytherins, eh?" She chuckled a little; then, lowering her voice, added: "Speak of the devil -- I've a message for you and your club. Some of us Alumni have been interpreting the signs, and they all ring true: Tom Riddle's coming back, and he'll be angrier than before." 

Beth and Melissa exchanged nervous glances. "Signs?" said Melissa, in a hushed voice. "Like what?" 

Grubbly-Plank shook her head. "Disappearances. The Dark Mark at the World Cup. And others ... that I'd rather not describe to you." She sighed a little and scratched the unicorn's neck idly. "He's gaining strength, and it won't be good: not for the innocents, not for those who try to fight him, not for the Death Eaters who abandoned him, and not for the Society that strayed from his ideals." 

Beth thought of the S.S.A. crypt, stark in the moonlight, and shuddered. 

"In any case," Professor Grubbly-Plank said briskly, "he's not renewed yet, is he? And young Mr. Potter is still around ... a lot of folks have pinned their hopes on him, let me tell you ..." She shook her head as if willing away a sad thought; then she looked up at the two of them and said brightly, "You don't mind if I pop in for the meeting this week, do you? Still Thursdays at eleven?" 

"Yeah," said Beth, at the same time that Melissa said, "Of course, that would be wonderful! You could update us on what the alumni are doing -- and tell us a bit more about those signs of the Dark Lord," she added, with a glint in her eye. 

"We'll see," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly. 

The crunching sound of footprints in the snow caused them to break off from conversation. Alicia Spinnet was approaching the professor, a concerned look on her face. "How long is Hagrid going to be out?" she asked. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank pursed her wrinkled lips. "I can't say, dearie. He didn't look keen on coming back this morning, that's for sure. You'll have to get used to me for a while!" She brayed out her harsh laugh again. 

"Oh," said Alicia Spinnet, not looking at all pleased. "Okay. Thanks." She retreated to spread the word among her classmates. 

"Hagrid's a great baby, really," Professor Grubbly-Plank confided, when she was gone. "I knew him in school. Quite too sensitive -- and a Gryffindor to boot. Now all this about him being part giant ... well, I shouldn't wonder if he quit Hogwarts entirely." 

Beth thought there was entirely too much glee in the way she said that. 

*** 

After lunch they had their first Apparator's Education class. Mervin and Beth got there early and sat around theorizing about the stolen cauldron. 

"It was the Weasley girl," said Mervin stubbornly. "We just have to prove it." 

"We can't prove it," Beth insisted. "The cauldron was stolen sometime during the Yule Ball. Evan said she didn't leave the Ball once -- and both Bruce and Blaise are saying the same thing." 

"It doesn't mean she's innocent!" Mervin hissed. "It means she's got _accomplices!_ Little scarlet-wearing first-year ones!" 

"Or maybe," said Beth, her gaze sliding to the Gryffindor side of the classroom, "obnoxious red-haired ones, just about our size." 

Mervin turned to follow her gaze. The Weasley twins were huddled together, arguing in fierce undertones. Surprisingly, none of their admirers were in on the conversation. It was eerie to watch the socialite twins alone in discussion; it made them look at once vulnerable and strange. 

"They were at the ball too," said Mervin dubiously. "The one was dancing so hard he almost killed me." 

"Me too," said Beth, "but where was the _other_ one?" 

The Weasleys looked up just then and Beth and Mervin turned away. 

"It's the oldest trick in the book," Mervin muttered. "They could be in two places at once, easy. We've got to watch them." 

"Are you plotting?" came Aaron's cheerful voice above them. "Can we help?" 

"We're not plotting," said Beth quickly. She looked up. "Warrington! I thought you had this class last semester." 

Warrington blushed a deep purple beneath his eye patch. 

"He failed his Apparation exam," Aaron explained. "Has to take it again." 

"Shame you missed the other class," said Mervin. "You of all people could use some career counseling." 

Warrington grunted at him, which either meant "I'll take it over the summer" or "I don't care." 

"Warrington doesn't need career counseling," grinned Aaron. He was obviously delighted that his best friend had been transferred to their class. "He's going to be a pirate. See, he's already dressing the part." 

All of them laughed, Warrington letting out a deep chuckle despite himself. Some of the other students nearby glanced at them nervously. 

Soon, however, Madame Hooch stormed into the classroom and ordered them into their seats. She swept her wand and a large screen appeared behind her, in front of the blackboard. 

"Come on, you lot, settle down," she barked. Everyone hastily took their seats. "Welcome to Apparator's Education. You are here to learn to Apparate safely and accurately. You will be challenged. This is not as easy as riding a broom -- and I remember your first-year flying lessons," she added darkly, raising her chin. Beth and Mervin exchanged an embarrassed glance. They had actually collided the first time in the air; it had been almost worse than not getting off the ground at all, like one or two of the Gryffindors. 

"But you all mastered it eventually -- more or less -- and with hard work and dedication, you'll be able to Apparate as well. But you must focus. You must think clearly. Because if you don't get it right --" Madame Hooch whapped the screen with her wand and an image appeared. "-- _This_ can happen." 

The class recoiled, making noises of horror or disgust. One of the Hufflepuffs covered her eyes. The Ravenclaws stopped taking notes and stared at the ghastly scene. 

"Oh _wow,_" said Mervin, leaning forward. "Is there a _curse_ that can do that?" 

"There is," said Madame Hooch, "and it's called not paying attention." 

"Constant vigilance!" chirped someone, and everybody laughed. Madame Hooch cracked a smile despite herself. 

"Constant vigilance indeed," she agreed. "Your attention must not waver. Now, quills out -- we'll be going over the history of Apparation first --" 

Madame Hooch, very fortunately, was a much more lively teacher of history than Professor Binns, and the class was interesting -- especially since she kept sprinkling it with stories of Apparations gone horribly wrong. By the end of class everybody was a bit wide-eyed and excitable; all those grisly stories made class something like watching Creaothceann. 

Beth caught Mervin on the way out the door. "There goes Cedric," she murmured. "Don't let him get away." 

They cornered him in the hall before his next class, blocking his way to Charms. "It's after New Year's," she told him. "You said you'd let us help you with the second task." 

"But I don't _need_ help," said Cedric, looking surprised. "I've known what the egg was saying since before the Yule Ball." 

Beth was as surprised as he was. "Really? How?" 

Cedric looked slightly uncomfortable. "I was tossing it around in class, and Pro- ... one of the professors suggested I try it underwater. So I took it to the prefect's bathroom and you can hear a song come out of it when you open it under the water. It's a riddle." 

There was a pause. 

"And the riddle was ...?" said Mervin. 

"I can't remember it all," said Cedric. _"'Come to where our voices sound, they can't be heard above the ground, something something, after an hour, too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'_ I think it means that the merfolk in the lake are going to steal something I value and I have an hour to get it back." He shouldered his rucksack and started to leave. 

Beth stretched out her hand and held him back. "I want to hear the real poem," she said. "Write it down and hand it to me in Alchemy." 

Cedric looked annoyed. "I'm telling you, I've got it right," he said. 

"It's safer with a second opinion," said Beth stubbornly, and Cedric let out an impatient sigh. "I don't want to sound like Trelawney or anything, but --" 

"I know, I know," sighed Cedric. "I could die." 

"Exactly." Beth took a glance over her shoulder to be sure that no one was listening. "And what if it's not Merfolk? What if somebody else took something you value, and you didn't know how to get it back?" 

Cedric held up his hands. "All right, fine, I'll write it down for you. But meantime I'm going to get started with what I have. I'm right, you'll see -- _and_ I puzzled it out myself." 

"Like that makes a difference," said Mervin, and he and Beth went off to class, leaving Cedric in the middle of the hall shaking his head. 

***

"Your final projects," said Professor Snape coldly, "should be nearly two-thirds completed by this point in the school year." 

The class shifted uncomfortably -- which made Beth feel extremely relieved. She had thought she was the only one who was not more than half finished. 

Snape, too, noticed the reaction, and raised his chin slightly. "I see that this is perhaps too great an expectation," he said. "Clearly other events have been weighing on your mind more heavily than this, the most important project of your career at Hogwarts." 

Everybody looked at Cedric. 

"Be that as it may," Snape went on, as Cedric blushed and ducked his head, "I shall be expecting your end-of-month reports to reflect a level of completion appropriate for a full five months of work." 

Some of the Ravenclaws exchanged panicked looks. Beth felt her cheeks grow hot. There was no way she had as much material as Snape wanted, and this was one professor who had no qualms at all about giving failing marks. It looked like she was going to spend a lot more late nights in the library this month. 

Having satisfactorily frightened them all, Professor Snape began the day's lesson with something of a smile. 

There was no doubt about it -- Alchemy was getting harder. Professors Snape and Vector had them delving into some really complicated Potions theory and Arithmancy; the constant pressure of the final project only made it harder to concentrate on day-to-day class work. Still, Beth had to admit that there was some subtle beauty in a softly simmering cauldron after all -- 

"Ow! Oops, sorry there, Ced --" 

Assuming, of course, you didn't have Stebbins throwing his toadstools in too soon. 

It took the rest of class to clean up, and another three minutes while Professor Snape told off Stebbins for not paying attention. Beth for one didn't mind the distraction ... every time Snape was yelling at someone else, it meant he wasn't yelling at her. Finally they were all allowed to gather their things and leave. On the way out, Cedric paused in front of her desk. When he left, a folded piece of parchment stuck out from one corner of her textbook. She pulled it out carefully -- the outside was labeled with the letters T.T. "Triwizard Tournament," she said to herself, and unfolded the note. 

        _Come seek us where our voices sound,   
        We cannot sing above the ground,   
        And while you're searching, ponder this:   
        We've taken what you'll surely miss,   
        An hour long you'll have to look,   
        And recover what we took,   
        But past an hour -- the prospect's black,   
        Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
_

At the bottom, Cedric had scrawled: _"Merfolk -- lake!"_

Sure enough, Cedric's interpretation seemed to match with the rhyme. Beth wasn't sure what the "thing you'll miss" could be, but she wouldn't bet on it still being around after the allotted hour. Between classes she handed the note to Mervin, who kept it until dinner when he told her that he agreed with everything Cedric had said. 

They approached him in the library after dinner. 

"You're right," said Beth, handing him the letter. "Merfolk -- I'm sure they're talking about the ones in the lake. You know what that means." 

Cedric looked up at them expectantly. 

"We've got two months to teach you how to breathe underwater." 

***

Although they brainstormed in the library for hours, by the time Madame Pince kicked them out there were no good ideas. 

Becoming an aquatic Animagus was by far the most ideal solution, but it was impossible to accomplish in eight weeks. (It had taken Daedalus Dellinger, a former S.S.A. member, well over two years to perfect his transformation into a snake.) Diggory refused to even consider Muggle scuba-diving equipment, which he considered "cheating", and wouldn't budge even when the Slytherins insisted that there was no such thing as cheating when it came to life and death. (Or any number of other things, they agreed privately, but those were even less likely to sit well with an honorable Hufflepuff.) 

He also wouldn't ask any of the teachers. This was a problem because none of the Society could make inquiries without looking suspicious, and Richard was certain that the professors not only knew what the task was all about, but that all of them had their own ideas on how to overcome it. 

"Flitwick would have them use a charm," he ranted at the meeting that week. "McGonagall would want them to Transfigure into a frog or something … Snape is sure to know about some oxygenated potion -- goodness knows what Sprout's got out in that greenhouse -- and Hagrid would just ask the squid to get it for him!" He slumped into the armchair. "Half the school could probably meet the challenge -- if Diggory would just _ask_ somebody!" 

"He thinks it would be cheating," said Bruce tiredly. "He'd rather die." 

"Well, he just might," said Richard tersely. 

There was a pause. "One of the teachers told him to open it underwater," Beth pointed out. 

"Which one?" asked Blaise Zabini. 

Beth and Mervin exchanged looks. "I don't think he said which one," Mervin said. "He was probably embarrassed about it." 

"I'm not surprised," said Richard. "He's going to fair-play himself right into an early grave." 

Melissa let out a noise of impatience. "Really, Rich, we don't _know_ that," she said. "We have no idea how long the spell takes to work. And his uncle hasn't died of it yet, remember?" 

"That's what I can't figure," Mervin interjected thoughtfully. "Is Cedric lying? Did his uncle lie about taking the potion? Doesn't that part of the potion work? It doesn't add up." 

"That's a good point," said Richard. He nodded slowly. "Something tells me that the sooner we figure that out, the more chance we have to save Diggory from himself." He sighed. "At least we're getting somewhere. Let's move on. Who the devil's taking our stuff?" 

They never got a chance to discuss the thefts, however, because just then the door to the Vase Room creaked open. Richard leapt to his feet, obviously ready to Stun -- or possibly murder -- the intruder, should they happen to be the thief ... but the head that poked round the corner belonged to Professor Grubbly-Plank. 

"I'm jiggered!" she said cheerfully, coming inside and plunking onto a low sofa. "Lots of you this year!" 

"Er -- a good twelve," said Richard. "I didn't know you'd be coming." 

Melissa gave him a guilty look. 

The Professor let out her braying laugh. "Well, here I am!" she cackled. "Tell me now -- what's the club been up to?" 

Melissa interrupted before Richard could speak. "You said you'd tell us more about the alumni chapter, and something about the Dark Lord." 

Professor Grubbly-Plank's long face fell. "Eh. Nothing, really." 

"You sounded a bit worried," said Melissa. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded reluctantly. "Truth be told, the Society's had a scrape of trouble," she admitted. "We sent in a fellow to search the Riddle House for clues on the disappearance of that Muggle who worked there." 

"Oh yes, of course," said Melissa. "My uncle mentioned that." 

"What did he find?" Richard pressed. 

Professor Grubbly-Plank hesitated. "We ain't sure," she said finally. "When he came out he'd lost his memory. Obliterated right out. The folks at St. Mungo's are doing what they can for 'im, but ..." She trailed off. 

There was an uneasy silence. "Who was it?" Richard asked at last. 

"Me old classmate," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Bernard Humphries." 

Bruce started. "Bernard Humphries?" he repeated. "An old fellow, no hair?" 

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded shortly. 

"I say," said Bruce. "I sat beside him at Baltus Gatherum's funeral." He looked down at his hands. "He was telling me stories from the Riddle days. He remembered things like … like what people were wearing, the exact things they said. To have lost all that …" 

Grubbly-Plank sighed. "His mind held as much of our history as the Ledger did. Least we still have the one, eh?" 

Richard went extremely pale. 

"That's why we sent him in, see," Grubbly-Plank went on. "He'd notice if things were amiss. He found something ..." 

"... but nobody knows just what," Melissa finished faintly. 

"Well," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, pursing her lips, "most of us have a theory." 

Beth had a theory too; but it remained unspoken, and that was just as well. 

***

Professor Grubbly-Plank's report made for a troubled meeting. The Society was still subdued as they crept back into the common room and made their way to their separate dormitories. Beth climbed into bed without saying much more than "Good night" to Melissa. 

The idea that a Society member had been so harmed in the course of duty was stunning and strange. Beth knew that their exploits could be dangerous - she herself had faced the mists of the Forbidden Forest, a giant three-headed dog, and the guardians of Azkaban - but they always seemed to turn out all right. Daedalus had been Petrified, but he had been restored … Richard had been Stunned by about thirty terrified Ministry workers, but he had recovered … and they had all survived being taken hostage by Randall Riggs, who, it was now agreed, had more than enough screws loose to have made it a very messy ending. They had done all right in the past. But Beth thought of the stone statue in the Chamber of Secrets: Ulysses Donner, a Society member who had wandered too far. 

Beth rolled over on her pillow and thought that the S.S.A. might be a more dangerous organization than she had imagined. 

~~~~~~~~   
Miracle of miracles! Fanfiction.net has finally decided to let me start uploading chapters again! So sorry for the delay, folks. I absolutely promise that the whole book will be up by June 20 -- if FF.net acts up again, go to the website listed in my profile. 


	14. Flames and Family

**Chapter Fourteen: Flames and Family**

Beth hadn't been more excited about a Hogsmeade trip since third year. 

"I can't wait to see him again!" she chattered to Melissa, excitedly doing and re-doing her hair. "He doesn't write me often enough -- I wonder how his job's going -- and if him and Dad are getting along all right ... I don't know how they're staying alive, neither of them can cook worth anything ..." 

Melissa smiled. "So where are you meeting your brother?" 

"In the Three Broomsticks." Beth could hardly keep from dancing from foot to foot. "Mel -- what are we going to talk about? What if I'm boring?" 

"Don't worry," said Melissa. "I'm sure something will come up." 

As it turned out, something did. 

***

As soon as the horseless carriages pulled into Hogsmeade station, Beth made a beeline for the Three Broomsticks. She went in and stood just inside the door, to avoid being run over by a horde of excitable third-years, craning her neck, trying to see around the entire tavern at once. A nervous flush rose in her cheeks. He had remembered -- hadn't he? 

"Hey." She turned around and there stood Lycaeon, grinning awkwardly. He clutched a medium-sized white box in one hand. "Here -- happy birthday." 

"Birthday?" Beth laughed. "It's not 'til next month!" 

"Yeah, I know ... but since you won't be coming home, I thought ..." 

Beth beamed and threw her arms around his neck. After she had let him go, Lycaeon, looking astonished and embarrassed, said, "Well -- let's find some seats," and they moved through the crowds to a small table near the back of the pub. As soon as they were seated, he shoved the white package over to her. "Go on, open it." 

It was a cake: an extremely lopsided cake with lumpy white icing and "Happy Birthday" written very inexpertly in green frosting. Beth grinned, completely thrilled. "Been taking cooking lessons from Dad, have you?" 

"Touché." Lycaeon grinned at her and drew a smaller package from his pocket, which turned out to contain seventeen colored wax candles. He stuck them into the cake at odd intervals and then sat back a bit sheepishly. "Wouldn't mind lighting them, would you? I haven't quite got the hang of matches yet ..." 

Beth laughed and lit the candles with her wand. He must have got them from Zonko's, because they each burned with a flame that kept changing colors. "Thank you so much." She leaned over the table and pecked him on the cheek, which immediately reddened in a trademark Parson blush. 

Pink but pleased, he cleared his throat loudly as the candles burned on the table between them. "School going well? How's the tournament?" 

"Frustrating," Beth said fervently. At her brother's confused expression, she quickly summed up the situation with Diggory. Lycaeon let out a low whistle. 

"Yeah, I've heard of the Transcongus Brew," he said. "Learnt about it for the O.W.L.s, actually. We used to joke around about it -- you know, when someone'd do something right, we'd say, 'What did you do, take the Transcongus Brew?', that sort of thing. They say it's sold underground to Muggles, that's why so many of their great poets and things die in their thirties." He shook his head. "But I've never known anyone who actually used it." 

His eyes took on that familiar haunted look, and Beth, feeling bad about bringing up such an unpleasant subject, said, "How's Dad?" 

Luke chuckled, and his gaze softened. "He gets around. He loves the Floo -- I never dreamed you two wouldn't have one. He went to Diagon Alley and came back with all sorts of new stuff for the garden." He looked up at her sheepishly. "How's your poison ivy?" 

"Getting better," said Beth eagerly. He held out his hand and she stretched her arm across the table to show him. Her sleeve flapped back to reveal the misshapen red splotch ... and the hem dragged in the candle flame and caught fire. 

Beth let out a quick, startled scream and jerked back involuntarily as the flames started to lick up the length of her arm. She shook her arm back and forth, which only helped fan the blaze. 

Lycaeon sat paralyzed with horror for several long seconds. Then, seemingly regaining his senses all at once, he sprang to his feet and lunged across the table. He grabbed her burning sleeve and began to beat at the flame with his hands, bellowing, "Rosmerta, get us some water -- ice -- _anything!"_ Some of the nearby patrons began to scramble around, but Beth didn't notice what they were doing. Blind with panic, she struggled to get out of her cloak, but it felt like her sweater was on fire too, even underneath it -- 

Luke snatched her wand from where it lay on the table, gripped her arm firmly with the other hand, and cried, _"Font vitae!"_

A gush of water burst from the end of Beth's wand, extinguishing the flame and soaking Beth from head to foot. She sat down on the floor, breathing heavily, and braved a look at her forearm. The sleeve was almost completely burned away; a sticky, charred cloth now clung to her wet skin, and through the gaps she could see angry red blisters start to rise. For the first time, a sharp flash of pain shot from wrist to elbow and she whimpered. 

Then Lycaeon was on his knees beside her, pulling aside the wet cloth to see what had been done. "Oh, Bethy," he said hoarsely, his face as drawn as it had been inside Azkaban, "I'm so sorry ... so sorry ..." 

"You saved my life," she choked, tears of pain welling in her eyes. 

Another flush rose in Lycaeon's cheeks. "I -- crushed your cake," he admitted. Beth laughed through her tears. 

"Oy, Parson, you've got some explaining to do." A hand reached down and grabbed Luke's upper arm, dragging him to his feet. "What's this about?" 

"I -- I can explain," Lycaeon said, his voice suddenly frightened. "Beth, see, she ..." 

Beth scrambled to her feet, clutching her injured arm. The man who had hoisted Lycaeon off of the floor was a burly fellow with a moustache and a large Ministry badge on his chest. He barely glanced over at her before shifting his full attention back to Lycaeon. "Well?" 

Beth was suddenly keenly aware of the many eyes on them ... it seemed like the entire pub had turned to watch the drama, many of her classmates included. She flushed brilliantly and struggled to wipe away the tears from her face. Her arm was really starting to sting now, and she bit her lip against crying out. 

Lycaeon caught her expression and blushed identically as he too noticed the crowd that had gathered. "I say, Williams, couldn't we ... take it outside? My kid sister, see, I don't want to ..." He nodded in Beth's direction. "She's hurt," he added hastily. 

The burly man with the moustache narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but he said, "All right, Parson, no tricks, you know where that'll get you." 

Luke's face paled. "I -- I know." 

The three of them shoved their way through the staring crowd and into the street. Immediately, Lycaeon pulled Beth to the side of the building, pushed up her sleeve, and began packing snow around her arm. It began to go numb almost immediately, and she looked at him gratefully. He pulled off his scarf and would it around her snow-packed limb before turning back to the burly man. 

"Beth's sleeve caught fire and I had to put it out," Lycaeon explained. "There wasn't any water around. I ... sort of panicked ..." He ducked his head. "Won't happen again." 

"It had better not," the burly man said gruffly, and Beth realized that he must be Luke's parole officer. He pulled out a notebook. "What spell did you use?" 

"Font vitae," said Lycaeon quickly, and the man nodded as if satisfied. 

"That's all we have recorded. Miss, you'll vouch for him?" 

Beth realized he was speaking to her and looked up quickly. "Sure," she said. "He was just trying to help me," she added quickly. "It was my wand, and I don't mind." 

The parole officer snorted. "Well, the Ministry minds very much," he growled. He poked Lycaeon in the chest. "Next time, Parson, get a bucket of water instead of breaking your parole, understood? I've got both eyes on you." 

Lycaeon nodded. The burly man snorted again, moustache twitching, and Disapparated in an instant. 

Immediately, Lycaeon turned back to Beth. "I'm sorry," he said again, carefully taking her hurt arm. He pulled her gently towards the street, saying, "Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey. She'll have you fixed right up." He began to lead her towards the castle. 

"But -- but the carriages are back that way," said Beth, looking over her shoulder. 

"They won't let me ride in them, I'm not a student," said Lycaeon, still pulling her along, "and I want to go with you at least as far as the gate. All right?" He smiled winningly. "Just give me a chance to play big brother, all right?" 

"All right," Beth said, with a small smile. 

It was a long walk back to the castle. On the way, Lycaeon told Beth about what he had been doing since the beginning of the school year. He had been promoted at the petrol station from night security to nighttime cashier; he was gradually learning to handle Muggle cash and operate their nonmagical equipment. 

"I sort of lied on the application," he admitted, not sounding especially guilty. "I did tell them that I didn't finish secondary school, but at the part about whether or not I'd ever been in jail, I put that I hadn't. Azkaban would be a bit hard to explain, wouldn't it?" He laughed a little too loudly. "But I'm getting the hang of it all now. Dad's even teaching me to drive a car. In a couple of months you won't be able to tell me from Martin Miggs." 

Beth laughed too. "Except you're not a comic strip character, and you're not mad, and you're not a Muggle either -- you've only got fifteen years to wait." 

"Fourteen and a half," said Lycaeon quietly, and his eyes looked beyond her to a place unseen. 

"I'm getting to know the Durmstrang students," Beth said, to change the subject. "I, erm, went with one of them to the Yule Ball. They're really nice, but their headmaster, Professor Karkaroff, doesn't like them to hang around with --" 

"Karkaroff?" Lycaeon stopped walking suddenly. "_Igor_ Karkaroff?" 

"Er ... yeah, I think that's his name." 

A look of hatred washed over Lycaeon's face and he started forward again. Beth hurried to catch up. "You know him?" 

"Know him? I served half a year in Azkaban with him." He shook his head fiercely. "Then he sold out half a dozen others to get himself free. He had some nerve to show his face in Hogwarts." 

"So ..." Beth held her injured arm close to her body, almost jogging to keep up with her brother. "He was a Death Eater then?" 

"He was." Lycaeon slowed down and looked over at her. "Like I said, he was released from Azkaban when he gave the names of another couple of Death Eaters. Cut a deal with the Ministry. He _wasn't_ very popular in there." 

"I guess not," said Beth, not sure of what else to say. 

Lycaeon glanced over at her. His eyes fell on her hurt arm, and he looked suddenly fearful. "Listen," he said, "stay away from him. Don't let on that you're a Parson, all right?" 

"Why --" 

"Trust me," said Lycaeon tightly. 

They walked several minutes in silence. 

Finally they reached the gates of the castle. "See?" said Lycaeon, rallying himself once again. "Here you are. Now go see Pomfrey and get yourself fixed up." 

Beth reached up and gave him a one-armed hug. "Thanks again for the cake." 

Lycaeon shrugged guiltily. "I'll mail you another one next month, on your real birthday," he promised. "If it doesn't fall apart." He looked down at the ground and gave a shy smile. "It was good to see you." 

Beth beamed. "You too." 

_My brother came to see me!_ she thought joyously, all the way to the hospital wing. Before last year, she had never, never expected anything like that to happen for the rest of her life. It occurred to her that, burn or not, she could not remember a better birthday. 

***

Madame Pomfrey was not pleased. 

"After all I've seen this year, I shouldn't be surprised," she muttered to herself, deftly cutting away the soaked and charred sleeve. "The Weasley twins and their beards -- those dragons -- Miss Granger's teeth, God help her -- not to mention those horrid sweets that turn you into a bird ... well, let's see what we have here," she said briskly, peeling back the cloth. 

Beth winced at the sight. Her left arm from wrist to elbow was a mass of painful blisters. Madame Pomfrey tutted and shook her head. "You've done a job on yourself," she said matter-of-factly. "Leaving it without treatment for so long ... Shouldn't be surprised if there'll be scars." She fetched a large can of orange paste and began slapping liberal amounts of it onto Beth's skin. "It won't work so well as it would have, if you'd gotten it in here right away," she warned. "You'll keep those blisters for a while." She tutted again as she wound gauze around the paste, making a sort of gooshy cast. "Even Diggory didn't do himself up this badly, and he faced a dragon!" 

She looked up at Beth suddenly, with a curiosity that she rarely showed. "How'd you do this, then?" 

"A birthday cake," said Beth, and blushed scarlet. 

Madame Pomfrey nodded wisely and laid a finger to the side of her nose. "That's why I never ask," she said. 

~~~~~~~~ 


	15. Dealing with Diggory

**Chapter Fifteen: Dealing with Diggory**

None of the fourth-years looked very happy on Monday. They never admitted why, but the reason was obvious; especially after some of the Gryffindors came in at lunch, excitedly spreading the word that Hagrid was teaching again. Beth didn't say so out loud, but she was actually kind of relieved. She had found Professor Grubbly-Plank more than a little bit annoying. 

There were in fact three things, apart from Professor Grubbly-Plank, that Beth was currently finding annoying. One was the fact that she'd spent most of the first term with bandages all over her arm, and now it looked like she was going to have to spend the second term wrapped up as well. The blisters made it difficult to eat, sleep and bathe -- let alone the times she accidentally brushed against the corner of her desk, which left her howling with pain. She did not, after this year's experiences, have much respect for Madame Pomfrey's potions. 

The second thing was Richard -- or, more specifically, Gypsy and the way she wouldn't _just leave him alone._ Worse, Richard never seemed to mind. 

The third was the thing that had been annoying her all year. 

"Goot morning, Beth!" 

He was named Josef Poliakoff. 

All right, she admitted, he was occasionally funny. And at least he wasn't going around acting like they were a "thing" now that they had gone to the Yule Ball together. Aaron Pucey was starting to hide every time he saw Blaise coming. 

"Beautiful day, yes?" Josef sat down and indicated the enchanted ceiling. The sun shone warmly through a few gray clouds. Outside, the mat of snow was slowly shrinking; the warm spell was very welcome. 

"Yes," Beth agreed. 

"T'e lake is thawed," Josef said, with as much satisfaction as if he had accomplished the feat himself. "Und my tea leaves said Saturday vill be nice as vell. It'll be t'e perfect time for you to come out und take a look at t'e ship." 

Beth looked at him thoughtfully. "Actually, that sounds kind of fun." She had been planning on -- and dreading -- a full day of Alchemy work. 

Josef looked delighted. "Vonderful! You vill be impressed and amazed." 

"Yeah, all right. But you'd better not be kidding about the weather." 

Josef looked mildly affronted. "I haff never read t'e leaves wrong," he announced. 

"Right," said Beth, "and Viktor's no good at Quidditch." 

***

Josef's tea leaves did not lie; Saturday was about as nice a day as it was possible to get in late January. Beth was met in the Entrance Hall at ten o'clock by both Josef and Andrei. "Ve can't be seen vith you," Andrei told her, in a grinning whisper that was uncomfortably reminiscent of the Weasley twins. "Karkaroff doesn't vant anyvone else on t'e ship." 

"Oh vell!" Josef shrugged amicably, and the three of them set off across the grounds. 

The Durmstrang ship bobbed placidly on the surface of the lake. Its gangplank rested on the shore, partially buried in heaps of murky snow and frozen mud. Josef and Andrei hustled her up quickly and hurried her below, winking at their classmates gathered around on the deck. 

Finally the three of them jammed through a narrow door and closed it behind him. Andrei breathed a sigh of relief. "That vos easy," said Josef brightly, and he waved his wand into the darkness. 

Immediately the room was illuminated. Beth let out a gasp -- what had first seemed to be a tiny closetspace was in fact a classroom, lavish with twelve large desks, fountains and sinks for Potions work, shelves crammed with equipment, an enormous teacher's desk, and a broad blackboard upon which a piece of chalk was writing out the homework assignment by itself. 

"This is fantastic," Beth managed. 

"Vell, ve haff to live here for a whole year," Andrei pointed out. 

"Come on," Josef said excitedly. "T'ere's more." 

Andrei stayed behind to serve as a guard. A back door to the grand classroom led deeper into the bowels of the ship ... which really, Beth thought, couldn't be called bowels at all. Each room was as meticulously clean, as majestically designed, as the one before it. 

Josef was obviously very proud of the workings of the ship, and seemed to know every plank and peg in its construction. He pointed out some of the sailing apparatus, none of which Beth understood, and the small storeroom, which was stocked with Potions ingredients -- some of them very hard to come by in Britain. Beth would have liked to spend more time peeking around the drawers and vials, but Josef hurried her on -- "In case Karkaroff comes around," he explained, in a quick excited whisper. 

The cabins were much larger than the tiny, worm-eaten sailors' barracks that Beth had expected. Each was done in warm hardwood, with a set of bunk beds, two writing desks and a little table in the center of the floor. The room that Katya and Gypsy shared also had a round rug and some blankets thrown across the backs of the chairs. If not for the round porthole windows, Beth never would have guessed that the rooms were anywhere but on dry land. 

They tiptoed past Karkaroff's door -- which, Beth noticed, was tightly bolted and much more ornate than the others -- and crept up the steps to the deck. 

"Impressive and amazing," Beth agreed, once they were outside and it was safe to talk. "I didn't realize it was so big inside." 

"Ve enjoy it," said Josef, suddenly and surprisingly modest. 

Most of the Durmstrangers were gathered on the deck, huddled together at the rail, talking quickly and pointing at something in the water. Beth, figuring the giant squid was making an appearance, joined them, with Josef close behind. But the object cutting through the dark water wasn't a familiar tentacle. 

It was a shark's fin. 

For a moment Beth was too startled to do anything, and she was immediately grateful -- she might have cried out. She stared at the fin in shock and fascination. Years ago in America her father had let her stay up late to watch _Jaws_ on TV. It was not his best parenting decision ever; Beth had lain awake in silent terror pretty much every night for a week. Now half-formed memories from the movie flickered through her mind. She shuddered involuntarily. 

"Don't vorry," came Josef's voice, from behind her. "He doesn't bite." 

She looked over her shoulder at him. "That thing is yours?" 

Josef grinned at her. "In a vay." 

The shark cut a sleek circle in the waves. Without warning, it turned and started toward the ship, first lazily, then steadily gaining speed. Beth jerked back from the railing. The slick black head came into view, rising slightly out of the water, rows of teeth glinting beneath the surface, devilish fin leaving a sharp white wake as it flew soundlessly toward them ... 

Two feet from the ship, the shark ground to a halt. 

The shark raised its head out of the water -- and morphed into Viktor Krum, who looked up at his classmates expectantly and called out, "How vos that?" 

"Better," Andrei called back. "T'e fin vosn't nearly as crooked as before." 

Beth looked from Viktor to Andrei and back down to Viktor. "That was _great!"_

Viktor swiveled in the water and noticed her for the first time. "Hello," he said mildly. Beth had the impression that he couldn't remember her name. 

Josef leaned over the rail and cupped his hands around his mouth. "_Viktor Krum,_ ladies und gentlemen!" he cried, more to Viktor than the rest of the students. "He flies like a bird _and_ svims like a fish!" 

Viktor, treading water, broke into a grin while his classmates laughed. "That must be vhy he valks like a duck," Andrei said, nudging Josef with his elbow. 

The Durmstrang students roared with laughter. Viktor, feigning insult, slammed his arm across the surface of the lake, sending freezing-cold water splashing up at his classmates. Katya, the girl who didn't know very much English, let out a shriek and jumped backwards, scolding Viktor in her native language. Viktor replied, grinning, and did it again. 

"Poor Katya," Josef sighed. He peered around the girl's back and gave Andrei a very meaningful look. "She'll never know vhat hit her. One ... two ..." 

Beth grasped what was going on a split-second before Andrei and Josef swooped down on Katya, picked her up by her arms and legs and hurled her into the lake. 

She landed beside Viktor, with a splash that would have been louder had it not been drowned out by her angry screech. She came up gasping, drenched, and started beating on Viktor and cursing her classmates loudly. Viktor laughed out loud and let her hang onto his neck while he swam to the ladder and clambered out onto the deck. He helped her up beside him. 

_"What is all this?"_

Professor Karkaroff emerged from the cabin, scowling around at his students. The activity on deck became suddenly, deathly still. Josef and Andrei quickly hid Beth behind them. 

"I vos training for t'e second task, Professor," said Viktor, in a low voice. 

"And your classmates were distracting you, I see." He turned on Josef angrily. "Poliakoff! What did I tell you about Viktor's time?" 

"That it vos very valuable and that ve shouldn't spoil it vith our presence," Josef said promptly. 

"You have a remarkable memory for someone so lacking in sense," Karkaroff sneered. "Back to your studies, all of you -- and try not to get in your champion's way!" He stormed back into the cabin and slammed the door without noticing that Katya was dripping wet. 

Viktor cast a look of undeniable hatred at the cabin door. "Go on, get out," he growled to his friends, and dove back into the water without another word. 

Beth was appalled at what she had heard. She looked over at Josef, but the tow-headed boy seemed no worse for having been unfairly singled out. He was picking pieces of seaweed off of Katya's shoulders and putting them in her hair (in between dodging her punches, that is) and chatting unconcernedly with Andrei in his native language. Kayta sneezed, shivered, and gave the boys a deadly glare. 

Beth touched Josef on the shoulder. "Tell Katya she can come back into the castle with me," she told him quietly, as Josef and Andrei exchanged looks. "Madame Pomfrey will give her something to keep her from catching cold." 

Josef met Beth's serious look, and his grin slipped a little. "Ve can take care of ourselves," he said, with only the smallest glance back at the cabin. "Ve haff medical supplies." 

"Oh," said Beth. "I ... only thought that it might be best if a professor ..." 

"And ve don't need a professor," said Josef, his voice suddenly curt. "Katya, idite s' Andrei, i najdite nekotoruyu lekarstvo. Beth, you should go back to t'e castle. Karkaroff may return." 

Beth looked from Josef to Katya, and to the ripple of water that marked where Krum had dived in. "All right," she said reluctantly. "Thanks for letting me look around." 

Josef looked like he wanted to say something; then he made a sweeping bow. "Anyt'ing for a Slyt'erin beauty," he declared, and Beth went red. She stammered out her thanks and beat a hasty retreat down the gangplank and across the school grounds. 

It was strange, Beth thought, how Josef could be Karkaroff's most cheerful student as well as the most hated. Viktor Krum, on the other hand, was doted upon, and was easily the surliest member of his class. The two situations seemed to oddly parallel one another; yet neither quite made sense. 

Beth entered the common room and hung her cloak, wet through at the hem from snow, by the door. She glanced around for her friends and saw Melissa and Bruce sitting with Rich and Gypsy at a small table in the corner. The four of them were all absorbed in their studies: Melissa buried in Ancient Runes and Bruce struggling through some Herbology, Gypsy reading from a scroll in some unknown alphabet, Richard with N.E.W.T.s notes spread out in front of him and the ink smudge on his cheek. He also had a smudge of another sort on the other cheek. Beth pulled over an empty chair and sat down, ignoring both Gypsy and the fact that she was wearing lipstick of much the same color as Richard's smudge. 

Richard glanced up and smiled. "Oh, hallo." 

"Hi." 

Melissa looked up from her Ancient Runes text and rubbed her eyes. "How was the ship?" 

Gypsy looked faintly surprised. "Oh, you've been to tour the ship? I see Karkaroff didn't catch you -- you've still got all your limbs." 

"No, but there was a close shave," said Beth. In the interest of conversation and goodwill, she said, "Your ship's really fantastic." 

"One thing about Karkaroff -- he does provide us with the best," Gypsy admitted. She smiled at Richard. "We enchanted quite a bit of it ourselves, sort of to get us in shape for the Tournament. Josef had a hand in nearly everything." 

"You mean -- he made some of that?" said Beth. 

"Oh yes," said Gypsy. "More than any of us." 

Even stranger, Beth thought. You'd think Karkaroff would be impressed, or at least grateful. 

She turned to Rich. "We've got confirmation that Diggory's right about the second task," she told him. "That the riddle indicates merfolk and everything. Viktor was training in the lake already. We've got to figure out how to breathe underwater -- anything else we find is worthless if he can't stay alive down there for an hour." 

"Couldn't we ask the professors?" said Bruce. 

"Wish we could," said Richard wistfully. "But they'd be on to us in a minute. It's too suspicious -- we might as well just go up and ask them how to solve the second task. But," he said, perking up, "there is someone." 

***

"I cannot help you," said Madame Pince sternly. 

Richard put on his most charming smile. "Not even for the Society you love? Gloria serpens..." 

"Mr. Shaw, it's not an issue of whether or not I want to help you. I simply cannot. To tell you the truth, I already spent several hours with Miss Delacour on that very subject," said Madame Pince. "This library is a forest of knowledge ... but where that particular piece of information lies, I haven't the slightest." 

"What's she going to do then?" asked Melissa. 

"I believe she has contacted her own librarian at Beauxbatons. An excellent man. Very precise." Madame Pince looked as if she approved thoroughly. "You might wish to do likewise." 

"He'd know straight off why we wanted to know," said Richard dejectedly. "Besides, I don't speak French." 

"I do," said Bruce. 

Richard looked at him thoughtfully. "How well?" 

Bruce shrugged. "Medium-well." 

Richard continued to look thoughtful. Then he looked up at the three girls. "Go on studying, we'll be back soon," he promised. Melissa and Gypsy exchanged resigned glances. "Come with me, Bruce. We're going to go find Oren." 

Beth watched them go. "Why Oren?" she wondered aloud. 

Melissa let out a dismissive noise. "Who knows what's going on in Richard's brain?" she said. 

Madame Pince gave them all a wry grin. "I certainly do. No matter what it is, it has the Society stamped all over it." 

***

Beth noticed three things at the meeting that Thursday. First, Oren was looking extremely pleased with himself. Second, Bruce was there on time and awake. Finally, Richard held a piece of parchment in his hand, and was clutching it so tightly that he looked like he was afraid it would be stolen if he let it go. 

"This," said Richard, holding up the parchment and giving it a shake, "is a copy of a manuscript that was once in the possession of Fleur Delacour. It was stolen from her carriage by Oren, translated by Bruce, and tomorrow we're handing it over to Cedric Diggory. May it save his life." 

It took everyone a while to work out everything he'd said. Beth didn't know who she was more impressed with; both Bruce and Oren were getting their share of congratulations. 

"Great," said Mervin. "So ... what's it do?" 

Bruce answered him. "It's called Le Charme Bulle-Tête -- the Bubble-Head Charm. Basically it forms this clear bubble around your head. You can go underwater and breathe the air inside it for about two hours. It looks tricky -- you have to be very careful how you do it, because if the bubble pops, you drown." 

This was met with a nervous quiet. 

Richard broke the silence. "Sixth-years, it's up to you to get this to him. You've got class with him and you approached him for the dragons as well." He handed the paper to Beth. "Good luck. Gloria serpens." 

***

For the job of coaching Diggory through the second task, Beth chose Evan. 

Her first choice was Mervin, who was in Apparator's Ed with her and Diggory, but the redhead refused on the grounds that he was so very busy at this particular time. He then scurried off to meet his Hufflepuff girl in the library. 

Evan was the next choice because he was taking Alchemy, albeit in the next level down. If suspicions were raised about a couple of Slytherins suddenly rubbing elbows with the Hufflepuff prefect, they could always blame their mutual class. 

She had her doubts about the dark-haired boy. He had been acting shadier and more suspicious all year. Herne was exasperated with him, but wouldn't tell anyone why. Moreover, Evan had recently been coming to breakfast with eyes that were more hollow and skin that was more pale. He never looked like he was eating enough or getting a good night's sleep. 

Still, he was clever, and above that, he had proven to be trustworthy. Back in second year, he had learned the secret of the Heir of Slytherin earlier than anyone except Riggs, and had gone so far as to drag Ginny Weasley to the Vase Room to prevent further killings. He was odd, Beth told herself, but there was no reason he couldn't be counted on to do a job. 

Therefore, when Beth sighted Diggory sitting alone at a table in the library, she quickly rustled up Evan and went to join the Hufflepuff at his studies. 

Cedric glanced up at them. "Hi," he said, obviously surprised. 

"Can you breathe underwater yet?" Beth said, keeping her voice low. 

Now Cedric looked both surprised and suspicious. "No." 

"Yes, you can." Beth handed him the translated parchment. 

Cedric looked it over, first with mild interest, then with growing astonishment. "Where did you get this? Pince and I have been through this library a dozen times --" 

"If we don't tell you, you can't get in trouble for it," Beth told him, taking a seat across the table from him. Cedric's wary expression was not lost on her. "You've got a month to practice and to test it out. I think it'll work." 

Cedric glanced over the page uncertainly. "Well ... thank you." He took a closer look. "Rather complicated beast, isn't it?" 

Beth hadn't actually read the parchment. "Oh?" 

"Yes -- advanced -- more than just swish-and-flick, anyway ..." He chewed on his lower lip. "I think I'm going to have to go to Flitwick." 

Evan raised an eyebrow laconically. "Isn't that cheating?" 

To Beth's astonishment, a sheepish look came over Cedric's face. "Yeah. You're right." He took a breath and laid the paper out between the three of them. "All right, you two will have to help me work this out." 

Beth glanced over at Evan's smirking face. Then she leaned forward to help Diggory sort out the workings of the Bubble-Head Charm. 

They spent the good part of an hour figuring out the intricacies of the charm. There were a lot of detailed notes on how to perform it properly, which were sometimes hard to make out in their translated form. Finally, after a few heated arguments and after Cedric made quite a few notes of his own, the Hufflepuff leaned back in his chair and declared that he understood. 

"About time," Evan said, before Beth could stop him, but Cedric nodded in rueful agreement. 

"And it'll take all month to learn to perform it, I'm sure." He looked up at the two of them and cracked a smile. "Thanks for the help." 

"You're welcome," said Beth, surprised and pleased. "Good luck. If you have any problems, you know where to come." 

And before Evan could harm the temporary peace between houses, she yanked him away. 

They weren't even out of the library before clumping footfalls sounded from behind them. 

"Been spending a bit of time with Diggory, haven't you?" came a gravelly voice. 

Beth and Evan turned to find Professor Moody staring them down with his good eye while the magical eye whizzed around, taking in everything in the library. 

"We're both in Alchemy with him," said Beth quickly. 

"Aha," said Moody. His good eye fell on the parchment in Cedric's hands, well across the room. "That's how old Snape's teaching you, then? Charms off of old bits of paper?" 

"He's being frugal," Evan sneered. 

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your head, Wilkes, when speaking with your professors," Moody said sharply. He looked from one to the other. "Mad-Eye's no fool. You've been helping Diggory work out how he's going to handle the next task. Well, that just makes me wonder what a pair of Slytherins like yourselves would be doing with a Hufflepuff like him, when you could be putting your minds to cheating for Karkaroff's boy." 

Neither of them spoke. Evan glowered at Moody from beneath his dark bangs. 

Professor Moody nodded as if all his suspicions had been confirmed. "Wilkes and Parson," he said thoughtfully. "Oh yes, I've heard those names before. Some of your parents' friends would go to great lengths if they thought they had a chance at hurting Potter. They'd even support a rival of his -- wouldn't you say, Parson?" 

Beth wanted very much to retort that her father didn't give two cents about what happened to Potter, but thought better of it and stayed silent. 

Moody leaned into them until his warped, grizzled face was only inches from theirs. "See here," he breathed, his voice a low growl. "I'm on to you two. You've been dedicated to the Dark Lord since before you could walk, and I trust you as far as I trust your filthy kin. There'll be no cheating in this contest, for Diggory or anyone else, so long as I've got my say. There's one reason I'm at Hogwarts this year, and that's to see that no harm comes to Potter, in class or in the tournament -- you have Moody's word on it." 

Giving them one last warning glare, he stalked off, false leg clomp-clomping on the wooden floor of the library. 

Beth waited until he was well out of hearing range before saying, "Of all the nerve ..." She expected Evan to have some venomous comment in hand, but it never came. She turned around to see Evan positively glaring in the direction that Moody had gone in. It looked as though he were trying to shoot poison out of his eyes. He looked frightening and dangerous -- Beth remembered the time at the end of her fourth year, when she had been convinced that Evan was the Heir of Slytherin. "Er ... Evan?" 

Slowly Evan's lips moved. "Someday," he hissed, in a voice that was barely audible, "he'll get what he deserves. And it'll be soon." 

Beth opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. She glanced toward Moody, limping out of the library, but when she turned back to Evan he had disappeared into the forest of bookshelves and desks. 

***

It was hard to remember sometimes, in the face of the Triwizard Tournament and her injured arm and the disappearance of the Ledger and Gypsy's increasingly frequent presence at Richard's side, but school went on, and so did everything that went with it. 

Apparator's Education wasn't fascinating, but it wasn't hard either. It consisted of a lot of geography and a lot of rote memorization. Beth crammed for the weekly quizzes the night before and always made it through pretty well, even if she forgot everything by the next day. They would soon start practicing actual Apparation, Madame Hooch kept warning them, so they'd better sit up and pay attention -- "But she won't until just two weeks before," Melissa confided, "so you're safe 'til then." 

Then, of course, there was the Alchemy project. The more Beth worked on it, the more she realized how far behind she had actually fallen. She wouldn't be ready to start working on the potion for another week or two. Luckily, she knew for a fact that only four people were on the potions bit of it by that point, and at least three were farther behind than her. Sometimes, the only thing that mattered was how well you did in comparison to everybody else. 

It was starting to seem like the foreign students had been there for as long as anybody else. Andrei and Melissa were regularly doing their homework together now; Viktor wasn't getting stalked in the library as much these days. Josef remained cheerful and insufferable. 

Katya, the girl from Durmstrang who had been thrown into the lake, came down with a cold. It was hard to tell if her ears were steaming because of the Pepperup Potion that Madame Pomfrey gave her, or because she was so mad at the boys for having thrown her in. 

_"Idiot,"_ she said icily, every morning when Josef greeted her. It was one of the few words of English that she had learned. 

"I thought you had medicine for her," said Beth concernedly. 

Josef shrugged. "It's not qvite as good as usual, perhaps. Ve'll check te concentration later." 

Beth let out a short "Hmm." 

Relations with Durmstrang had improved, but the ones with Beauxbatons had not. The "Madame Maximum" joke had gotten old; now the boys were referring to the large headmistress as "Mount Maxime" and making dirty jokes about rock climbers. This earned them dirty looks from the Beauxbatons students more than once, and Aaron had once been physically accosted by a boy after an extremely rude comment about a pair of hot-air balloons. The boy who had been rejected by Antigone was spreading rumors about her. This did nothing but earn him a quick, silent and thorough beating at Warrington's hands (arguably, the biggest hands in the school). Warrington got detention. The Beauxbatons boy got a cast and a lesson about taunting people with large boyfriends. 

Even though Cedric had the Le Charme Bulle-Tête in his hands, the Society wasn't finished with him. Evan found a map of the lake on the wall of the Vase Room, and handed him a copy when no one was looking. Oren hunted up some books on underwater hazards and gave them to Beth to pass on in Alchemy. Blaise made an effort to get onto Hagrid's good side during a CoMC lesson. From that she extracted a surefire way to scare off the giant squid. 

All this happened in less than a week. After class on Tuesday, when Mervin had delivered some useful comments on how to untangle yourself from Grappling Seaweed, a handful of members ducked into an unused classroom to report to their fearless leader. 

"Absolutely splendid," said Richard, propped on the corner of the teacher's desk. "He has everything he needs. You know Diggory -- he won't stop working on it 'til he has everything right. We've done all we can do. Diggory's fully prepared for the second task and now it's up to him." 

They got up to leave. 

Richard had his hand on the doorknob when he stopped. A dull sort of whirring sound had sprung up somewhere in the mostly-empty classroom. They looked around for a moment, trying to judge the source of the subtle noise. "Insect," he said, and shrugged it off. 

Morag let out a gasp. 

A horrified look spread over Blaise's face. She turned on a dime, jabbed out her wand and shouted, _"Petrificus totalus!"_

The frozen carcass of a large black beetle clattered to the ground. 

It lay there for a second or two, spinning on its back with six frozen legs at odd angles in the air. Morag darted over and swept the beetle into his hand. 

Richard took his hand from the doorknob. He looked from Blaise to Morag and an expression of very deep suspicion crossed his face. "What's that?" 

"Nothing," said Blaise quickly. 

"Hand it over," Richard ordered. 

"Tisn't naught," Morag insisted. 

"Tis _so_ aught, now _give me that!"_ Richard demanded. 

Morag glanced at Blaise, who was glowering by now, and reluctantly handed over the beetle. Richard took the thing gingerly between thumb and forefinger and looked it over carefully. Finally he said, 

"What is it?" 

"Just a bug," said Blaise. 

"Morag?" 

"Tis naught but a beastie," said Morag sullenly. 

"Oh," said Richard, "then you won't mind if I --" He put the beetle between his palms and prepared to squish. 

Blaise and Morag started forward -- backed away -- looked at each other askance -- started to speak and then didn't -- shuffled a bit more before Blaise finally said, "No, don't do that," very reluctantly. 

"Why not?" said Richard tersely. 

More stammering and looking at shoes. Then Morag spoke up. 

"Tis a colleen." 

Richard looked at him blankly. "A what?" 

"A colleen -- a lassie! Tha' beastie's a woman!" 

Richard's jaw dropped. "Good lord." He held the beetle in the flat of his hand as if afraid to have it too close. "How do you --" 

Mervin elbowed his way closer. "Allow me." He snatched up the beetle, placed it on the floor between them, and pointed his wand at it. A flash of blue-white light shot out of his wand -- another one, like a flashbulb, enveloped the beetle. The creature shuddered ... and began to grow. 

Beth watched in amazement as the beetle took on the form of a woman, who brushed herself off and stood up quite without embarrassment. She had tight blonde curls and a pair of odd, horn-rimmed glasses perched low on her nose. She carried a purse. She did not seem astonished to see them. 

Melissa looked from the woman to Blaise to Morag and back. "Who are you?" she finally demanded. 

The woman turned to Melissa and appraised her quickly. Then she smiled widely and stuck out her hand. Melissa, astonished, shook it. 

"Rita Skeeter," she said, "freelance journalist. Thanks for the petrification," she said icily to Blaise. "Nice to know you young Slytherins can keep a bargain." 

Blaise advanced on her indignantly. "You promised not to spy on us," she said angrily. "You broke your end of it first." 

"My dear, a story is a story," said Rita, fussing with her alligator-skin purse. She looked up and her eyes fell on Richard. "Cheating in the Triwizard Tournament? Now that's _juicy._ Could someone be trying to ensure that Harry doesn't win? Is Cedric trading any ... _favors_ for this kind of help? Our readers want to know!" 

"I'm sure your readers would also be interested in unethical conduct by a reporter!" Richard said hotly, finally finding his voice. "Breaking into Hogwarts school won't be taken lightly, especially by those who have children here. And in the form of a beetle -- are you _registered?"_

Something glinted behind Rita's eyes. Richard crossed his arms smugly: his suspicion had been correct. 

But Rita was undaunted; in fact, she looked delighted that she had been challenged. 

"Well, now _here's_ a conundrum," said Rita, smiling widely. "Either one of us can destroy the other. Dual blackmail is so inconvenient, don't you think? Quite bothersome really." She beamed even wider, which Beth thought made her look like a crocodile. "What do you say that we both agree to keep our secrets? I don't tattle on you, and you don't tattle on me." 

Richard looked furious. Then he said, "That's not good enough, Rita. What we've got on you is plenty worse than what you have on any of us." 

"Oh?" said Rita, narrowing her eyes and leaning into Richard's face. "Can you be so sure?" 

Richard's look faltered, and Beth knew what he was thinking. Had there been a beetle at any one of the S.S.A. meetings? What about when they had discussed the Society in the halls or at lunch, or even -- Beth gulped -- when they had spoken about all they had gotten away with in previous years? Rita was right: there was no way for them to be sure of what she did or didn't know. Satisfaction spread across the newswoman's face as she recognized that uncertainty. 

"I believe I have you checkmated." 

Richard squared his shoulders. "All right. Let's bargain." 

"Lovely," said Rita, tapping her acid-green quill against her palm. 

Richard looked back at the Society and nodded his head toward the door. Reluctantly, the members backed out and left him alone with the reporter. Their president wore his game face, grim and resigned; but Rita Skeeter looked like she was getting ready to have the time of her life. 

***

Nobody saw Richard until the end of the day, when he came into the common room and wearily slumped in a chair by the fire. Immediately, he was swarmed by half the Society wanting to know what happened. Blaise and Morag were not among them. 

"Didja kill her?" whispered Mervin excitedly. 

Richard gave him a tired look. "No, I did not kill her." He paused reflectively. "Probably I could've got away with it though. Next time." 

"So you made a deal," said Melissa, with an annoyed look at Mervin. 

"Yes." 

Beth and Melissa exchanged looks. "And ..." 

"It's very simple," Richard sighed. "I made her promise not to print anything negative about any current Slytherin, and to stay out of the castle between dusk and dawn. She's also not going to mention that we're working with Diggory. Meantime she goes on buzzing about for stories." He shrugged heavily. "It was all I could do." 

"That sounds all right," said Beth. "Does she know -- did she hear anything about the Society?" 

Richard gave her a smile. "No -- that's the one good thing. She thinks we're just a bunch of opportunists or something." 

Evan arched an eyebrow. "We are." 

Richard glanced at him with obvious distaste. "Well at least it's not in her bloody newspaper," he said. He stood up wearily. "I'm going to bed. We'll talk about it at the meeting this week." 

And before another word could be spoken, he was gone. 

***

The happenings of the evening spread through the Society like wildfire. Nobody wanted to show up at the meeting that Thursday -- no one was sure what Rich would say about the fourth-years' alliance with a reporter, or what he would do. Blaise held out that they hadn't done anything wrong, but Morag would go red and stay quite silent on the subject. The gathering in the Vase Room was very subdued. 

For a long time Richard stood there, looking as if he were gathering his words. Then, finally, he said quietly, "Why did you do that to us?" 

Morag lowered his head guiltily, but Blaise met Richard's eyes. Beth didn't like the look in them ... it was part defiance, part something more poisonous. _The thief has to be one of us,_ she thought unexpectedly. Since the incident with Rita Skeeter, she had forgotten the Vase Room break-ins. 

"We didn't do anything _to_ you, Rich," Blaise snapped. "How were we supposed to know she'd be snooping around us?" 

"You've been letting her into the castle," Richard argued back. "We're all over the place, with the meetings, and searches, and Diggory; she was bound to run into us. The whole Society was endangered -- because you people wanted to make Potter look bad." 

Blaise was looking surly. "It was Draco's idea." Morag looked downright ashamed. 

"And you helped him!" said Richard. 

"That's our business!" said Blaise hotly. 

"Not if it puts the Society at risk of being found out," said Richard, leaning forward. "Then it's _everybody's_ business." 

"What -- and tramping around after curfew _doesn't_ put us at risk of being found out?" she exclaimed, face growing red. "How about hanging off Diggory all the time? Or you running around like a nutcase setting people up for the Yule Ball just so you can spy on as much of the school as possible?" 

Rich looked stunned. 

"I don't know what you think we accomplish," Blaise went on bitterly. "I can't remember us ever doing a single thing to impact anyone in the school." She changed subjects in a flash. "And whatever it is you try to get done, you never let me work on it." 

Richard opened his mouth indignantly. "I say, that's not true! We've done a lot of good --" 

"What do I care?" said Blaise. "I've never helped with any of it." 

Beth couldn't believe the course the confrontation was taking. Had the Society somehow _added_ to Blaise's general sense of bitterness toward the world? She tried to think of something big that Blaise had been involved with. She couldn't come up with anything. 

Richard looked like he couldn't believe it either. "Almost all of our assignments are open to volunteers," he said stubbornly. "But this is _not_ the point. The point is that our security was compromised because you two collaborated with that -- criminal --" 

"Oh, whatever, Rich," said Blaise. 

_"I just want to know why you did it!"_ cried Richard. 

A long, silent look from Blaise. 

"Because we wanted to be in on something," she said. 

The Vase Room hung in silence. 

"Nobody in Hogwarts could ever get away with sneaking a person into the castle," Blaise went on, voice rising. "But we did it. We could do it -- I could do anything you put us up to. I could've broken into Azkaban. I could've kept that werewolf away from Potter -- not," she added maliciously, "that I would have wanted to, but you never let me do anything at all! It's like you don't care I'm here! I mean -- I get the feeling that I was inducted just because I'm the only person in our year who isn't a goon or a jerk!" 

Morag looked hurt. 

"Well --" Richard ran his hands through his hair. 

Blaise's face twisted. "I knew it. You just needed your two inductees to keep the Society padded with 'volunteers'. Well, I've had it. You can count me out. I quit." 

She took hold of the Society ring and began to twist it off. 

"You can't take off your ring," said Richard quietly. 

"Don't tell me what I can't do," grunted Blaise, tugging at the ring. "I'm telling you, I'm out. No more. Goodbye, Vase Room." 

"And I'm trying to tell you," said Richard. His voice was firm but apologetic. "You can't take the ring off. Your name is in the Ledger and on the walls of the crypt. You're a member for life." 

Blaise was still clawing at the ring on her finger. "You bloody liar." 

Richard shrugged. 

Blaise caught one look at Richard's face and quit tugging at the ring. "I do _not_ believe this." She slumped onto a low sofa in defeat. 

"You really can't take them off?" said Melissa, with great interest. "I thought you were making that up, Rich." 

"Not I." 

"Wait a minute," said Beth, "I took mine off the other year when Baltus Gatherum died. I thought it was going to cut my finger off, the way it was getting tighter." 

"And I took mine off to go swimming over the summer," Herne added dubiously. 

"Let me clarify," said Richard. "You can't take it off with the intention of not putting it back on again." He shrugged again. "All this is -- was -- in the Ledger." 

Mervin looked almost as annoyed as Blaise. "Why didn't you warn us at the induction?" 

"Everyone knows how Slytherins like to hedge their bets," Richard said. "We could never get anyone to join if they knew." 

"Right on that count," said Blaise, from the sofa. 

Richard looked from Blaise to Morag, and around at the rest of the Society. He went back to Blaise. 

"That was pretty quick thinking, with the freezing charm," he said. "Otherwise who knows what kind of dirt Rita would've gotten away with. At least we got a chance to bargain before we saw our pictures all over the front page of the Prophet." 

Blaise grunted. Morag looked hopeful. 

"And it was good of you to ask Hagrid about the giant squid," Richard went on. "And we needed you to hunt down Dumbledore while we were out with the werewolf. And the two of you are in class with Potter -- that could be _vital_ some day." He paused. "We really do need you. We need you both." 

Blaise looked up at him. "Then act like it." 

Richard took a deep breath. "I will -- if you act like you want to be a part of this club." 

"Apparently," said Blaise, "I don't have a choice." But her voice was softer, and her words less pointed. The conflict was over. 

~~~~~~~~   
Josef says, "Katya, go with Andrei and find some medicine."   
Some of you have asked why they inducted more people to replace the Arendts, but not Riggs. The answer is that the Society is supposed to have ten members at a time: two from each eligible year. If they're under ten, they make it up with inductees, but even without Riggs they numbered ten, and didn't need any more members. Plus, you have to admit the pickings were a bit slim in Harry's year. 


	16. The Second Task

**Chapter Sixteen: The Second Task**

Before they knew it -- and before Beth could be sure that Diggory was ready to face it -- the day of the second task arrived. 

By eight o'clock in the morning, everybody was at breakfast. By nine, Dumbledore was telling everybody to head down to the lake, which left Beth very relieved -- if they'd been ushered toward the Forbidden Forest, for instance, it would prove that their solution to the riddle was completely wrong, and then Diggory was up a creek. 

Beth followed her classmates outside and down the great stone steps. The day was crisp but clear ... still, she didn't envy the champions the task of swimming in these temperatures. Richard caught her as she left the Entrance Hall and pulled her over to an isolated corner of the castle. 

"Good news," he said. "Our esteemed President has decided to show up to watch the task. I'll be meeting Jules Rothbard when his coach comes in from Hogsmeade." 

Beth thought of Rothbard's grandfatherly girth and smiled. "I couldn't see him on a broomstick." 

Richard laughed. "Neither can I, and frankly I wouldn't want to." 

"It'll be good to see him, though," Beth went on. "Catch up on news --" 

She stopped. Richard's brow furrowed as his attention shifted to something behind Beth. His face twisted a little. "Huh. Look who came by for the Tournament. Haven't you been forbidden from the grounds?" 

It was Rita Skeeter. 

"Shaw. How pleasant." Rita looked like a fox who's invited a rabbit over for tea. "I do hope your little extracurriculars have paid off -- I've put a substantial bet on Diggory to come out of this one on top." 

"Buzz off," Richard snapped. 

"Suit yourself," said Rita. She vanished and a large black beetle zipped away. 

Richard watched her go. "I honestly hate that person," he said mildly. 

"Forget about her," Beth urged. "She can't do anything to us." 

"Not without hurting herself, anyway," Richard agreed, somewhat heavily. He patted Beth on the shoulder. "Well, I'm off to pick up our President. We'll try and sit near you, all right? See you soon!" 

"See you soon," Beth echoed. If he'd be sitting with the Society, he wouldn't be alone with Gypsy. Her mood instantly brightened. She went to join Bruce, Melissa and Mervin on the other side of the grounds. 

The excitement over the start of the task was, if anything, even more terrific than it had been at the first task. The Support Cedric Diggory badges were mostly gone, now that Potter had come back into favor, but the Hufflepuffs all wore yellow, and an enormous banner stretched across their section of the stands: "WE KNOW YOU CAN DO IT, CEDRIC!" 

Beth and her friends settled into the stands near the rest of the Slytherins. The crowds were enormous; the chatter and cheer was catching. A skinny, young-looking wizard in a Ministry cloak was strolling up and down the aisles, crying, "Programs! Get yer programs! Best thing you can buy for three Sickles!" 

"You can get a two-pack of Cauldron Cakes for three Sickles," Bruce pointed out, but Melissa squealed, "Oh good, just like at the World Cup!" and forked over enough silver for each of them to have their own. 

Each "program" was a rolled-up parchment with a gold tassel. Beth unrolled hers and looked down. Words erupted onto the paper: 

WELCOME   
to the Second Task   
of the   
One Hundred and Third Quintannual   
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!

The words faded out dramatically and a picture appeared on the paper. As it hove into focus it became Fleur Delacour, tossing her silver hair and beaming. 

"From Beauxbatons Academy: Fleur Marie Delacour!" crowed the parchment. The photo of Fleur winked and threw a kiss at Bruce, who blushed furiously. 

The picture faded out and was replaced with Cedric Diggory, waving and smiling gallantly and looking every inch the golden boy that everyone said he was. 

"From Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Cedric Euphrates Diggory!" the parchment read. 

Beside her, Mervin sniggered and nudged Beth in the ribs. "Euphrates." 

"Your middle name's Pyrrhus," Beth pointed out, and Mervin silenced. 

Viktor Krum did not have a middle name. He scowled up from the photograph as if longing to turn his head to the side. He looked grateful as his photo faded out to be replaced with a rather bewildered-looking picture of Potter, who grinned nervously in a way that said he was wondering exactly what he was doing there. 

"Also from Hogwarts," announced the parchment, "Harry James Potter!" 

Melissa let out a snort. "Look at that," she said, leaning over Bruce to point at Beth's program. "They've made the tail of the P look like a lightning bolt." 

Potter's photograph faded and a black-and-white image began to form on the page. It took a few minutes for Beth to recognize the lake; it was tilted slightly differently than it had been in their map, and with unmarked features that she hadn't remembered seeing before. On one edge of the lake were three tiny dots, one each of blue, red, and yellow, and they moved around restlessly at the corner of the lake. Beth pointed them out to Mervin. 

"They're the contestants," he said, motioning to the lake. Fleur, Cedric and Viktor milled around the judges' table, giving each other nervous smiles or pats on the shoulder. "Blue for Beauxbatons, see? Red for Durmstrang. I guess Diggory gets yellow for Hufflepuff." 

"So where is Potter?" asked Beth, turning her program from side to side. "He's not on here." 

"Who cares?" said Mervin and Bruce simultaneously. 

"Well well!" came a jolly voice from behind them. "What's this, young Slytherins, eh?" 

Beth turned around to see a bald, round-faced man with a wide white moustache beaming down on them: Jules Rothbard, president of the Society. Richard was at his side. 

"The best and brightest, sir," said Richard cheerily. "Mind if we sit behind you?" 

"No, please," said Melissa, eyes shining. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rothbard." Beth grinned. If there was one thing Melissa enjoyed, it was schmoozing with famous or powerful wizards. 

Rothbard let out a grunt as he settled himself onto the bleachers behind them. "Good to see you all looking well," he boomed cheerily. His eyes fell on Beth's bandaged arm. "But what happened to your arm, my dear?" 

"Oh." Beth glanced at the bandages and flushed. "Poison iv-- I mean, I burned it." 

The crowd around them began to whoop and cheer. The Slytherins looked around for the source of the racket. Suddenly Bruce reached over and clamped his hands over Beth's eyes. 

"Don't look!" he ordered, in a hushed, scandalized whisper. 

"What?" said Beth, pulling at his hands. "What?" 

"Well _well,"_ said Melissa appreciatively. "Quidditch done well for him, hasn't it?" 

Beth peeked through Bruce's fingers in time to see Viktor Krum remove the last of his robes and walk back to the judges' table in his swimming trunks. He was hunched over, as usual, but it couldn't belie the fact that he was a skinny but very well-built young man -- or, as Antigone would say later, "a beautiful piece of man-meat." She whistled cheerfully. Bruce was positively appalled. 

Krum, looking furtive, slunk away from the crowd. Beth once more reflected on how different he was when he was around his classmates, instead of in the spotlight. In a small group, he wasn't afraid to smile ... in front of a large one, he hardly even dared to look up. 

Once again the audience began to laugh and chatter. A small, dark figure came hurtling across the grounds, sprinted around the opposite edge of the lake, and dashed up to the judges' table. It was Potter. He gasped out an apology to the judges and bent over with his hands on his knees, thin chest heaving with exertion. 

_"Bugger,"_ said Bruce emphatically. "I was hoping he'd get disqualified." 

"He's in more danger this way," said Mervin, with a kind of hope. 

Ludo Bagman's voice burst over the noise of the crowd and everyone looked toward the judges' booth. The champions were spaced along the bank of the river. "Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One ... two ... _three!"_

On his whistle, the crowd erupted into applause. 

Viktor was the first to move. He bent his legs and dove headfirst into the lake, cutting cleanly through the surface of the water. The place where he had disappeared began to bubble and churn ... Beth caught glimpses of a shark's fin, a long black snout, and a pair of pale skinny legs before the ripples calmed and all traces of Viktor had vanished. 

She gaped at the empty water. "Well -- how are we supposed to know what he's doing?" Beth demanded. 

"Look at your program!" said Melissa distractedly. "That's what it's there for!" 

Beth unrolled her program again. The three dots representing the contestants had shifted, and been joined by a black dot that presumably represented Potter. The red dot was rapidly changing position on the map, leaving the shore behind him. A rolling script across the bottom of the program read: 

Viktor Krum, Durmstrang champion, attempts partial Transfiguration into a shark

Beth watched, fascinated, as the blue and yellow dots also began to move into the lake, away from dry land. The script changed again. 

Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons champion, makes use of the Bubble-Head charm

Beth snorted back a laugh. "She doesn't need to cast a charm to be a bubble-head," she commented to Melissa, who giggled. 

Bruce interrupted by beating at their sleeves excitedly. "He's done it! Look, he did it right!" 

Only Cedric's head was visible above the waves; the bubble that encased his head was clear and round, leaving his features looking stretched. He sank below the waves with hardly a ripple. 

Potter wasn't nearly as graceful. He waded in to his ankles, stuffed something in his mouth, and a moment later flopped forward like a beached fish. The audience laughed as he wriggled into deeper water and disappeared. 

"D'you think Cedric's going to live through this one?" Bruce asked reflectively. 

"Maybe," said Mervin. "Have a chocolate frog?" 

It was very nice to sit among friends and munch on snacks from Honeyduke's while enjoying the view of the lake. The surface of the lake gave away nothing about what was going on beneath it; the programs, however, were extremely informative. Not only did the moving map display the contestants' locations, but the rolling script along the bottom gave a running commentary of the interesting events. The audience reacted as if they were actually watching. Beth was able to amuse herself for several minutes by keeping her eyes closed and listening to the cheers and gasps of the crowd as they read the action in unison. 

Fleur Delacour was mired for several minutes in some Grappling Seaweed; she eventually had to numb nearly every strand individually before she could break free. Cedric Diggory took a wrong turn right at the beginning ("Isn't he even looking at our map?" said Melissa in despair) and continued in an uncertain zigzag for most of the first half-hour. 

Everybody but Viktor got attacked by Grindylows; obviously his half-shark visage was grotesque enough to keep them at bay. 

The programs were certainly fascinating ... but after almost an hour, not one of the contestants had returned with their captive. In fact, the map showed that none of them were even very close to finding them. The audience became restless. Rothbard leaned forward to chat with the Slytherin sixth-years. 

"Shaw here's been telling me what you're doing with Diggory, and I just want to say that I think it's a fine idea." His wide white moustache twitched with good humor. "Not exactly standard conduct for the Society, mind, but it's best to keep busy, and you may yet learn something about the way the old Huffles think, eh?" 

"Hufflepuffs think?" said Mervin, surprised. 

Mr. Rothbard joined in with a deep belly laugh. "Occasionally, my dear boy. In any case, Diggory had better do some thinking right now -- and fast, too." He tapped the clock at the bottom of the program. It showed that the contestants had only two more minutes to retrieve their captives. 

"Mr. Rothbard," said Bruce, "how is Bernard Humphries?" 

Rothbard looked startled for a moment; then he relaxed and let out a short chuckle. "Ah, Grubbs must have told you," he said knowingly. Bruce nodded. "Loves a good gossip, that woman. The truth is, old Bernard is in fine shape -- he knew me well enough when I went to visit him in St. Mungo's! He seems to have forgotten entirely that he ever went into the Riddle House, but I assure you, that is the extent of the damage." 

"I'm glad to hear it," said Bruce, sounding extremely relieved. 

Richard still seemed puzzled. "Why would anyone modify a memory so little?" he said. "If his attacker was able to get in one spell, he could've obliviated everything -- or even killed him. Why stop short?" 

Rothbard shrugged his shoulders jovially. "Who can fathom the criminal mind, old sport? I say --!" He pointed down at the lake. "One of the champions has finally returned!" 

One of the champions _had_ returned -- but not willingly. Fleur Delacour, kicking and screaming, was hoisted above the water by hundreds of long-fingered hands and hurled unceremoniously to the shore. She landed on her side in the mud. Immediately, she sprang to her feet and charged back into the water, only to be repelled by the creatures whenever she got a few yards out into the water. 

Melissa trained her Omnioculars on the hands. "Grindylows," she breathed. "Ugh, there are _scores_ of them ..." 

Fleur looked a real mess. Her robes and hair were strewn with seaweed; her robes had been torn and every time she was beaten back by the Grindylows, she came away with more and more scratches on her face and arm. Finally Madame Maxime, looking stricken, emerged from the judges' booth and pulled her away from the shoreline. The Grindylows retreated. 

A pair of heads broke above the waves, several yards from shore: It was Cedric Diggory, with Cho Chang clinging to him. They began to swim in and the crowds went wild with cheers. The Hufflepuffs put their heads together and hastily changed their banner: "WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, CEDRIC!" 

The two of them clambered to shore and were instantly snatched up by Madame Pomfrey, who swathed them in blankets and forced steaming potions down their throats. She had hardly finished tending to them when the crowd began to roar anew. A shark's head emerged far out in the lake and swiftly transformed back into Viktor Krum. He had Hermione Granger around the waist. She seemed to come to life as her head broke the water; she moved away from Viktor and swam to shore beside him. 

None of this soothed Fleur Delacour, who was still throwing herself toward the water with a hysterical fervor. _"Gabrielle! Did you see 'er?"_ She was no match for Madame Maxime, however, and remained firmly within her headmistress's broad arms. 

Viktor and his captive were wading out of the lake when another great roar broke from the audience. Not two, but three heads appeared in the center of the lake. 

"Potter's back," Bruce observed dejectedly. 

"Bugger," said Mervin. "Want a cauldron cake?" 

Pretty much everyone else was on their feet by this time, screaming with excitement, for more heads were popping up all around Potter and the others -- weird ones, green-brown and scaly faces with kelp-wild hair. Many of them carried tridents and crude spears. Moreover, the creatures were singing ... well, screeching anyways, sounding much like Cedric's golden egg or (Beth remembered with a shudder) the Parsimmer family banshee. The whole strange entourage moved toward the shores and the land-dwellers clambered out onto the banks. 

Madame Maxime finally released Fleur Delacour, who went tumbling into the shallows to embrace her sister. Half of the judges were now clustered around Potter; Dumbledore and Bagman were hauling Potter out of the water, while Percy Weasley fussed over his brother and Maxime hovered over Fleur and her sister like a gigantic mother hen. 

Cedric was looking around at the wildly cheering crowds. He caught sight of the S.S.A; his eyes narrowed for a moment and he turned away, back to where Cho Chang was trying to wring out her long black hair. 

"Some gratitude," snorted Melissa. "After all we did to help ..." 

Richard leaned in from behind them. "That doesn't matter," he said. "He's _alive._" 

"Two down, one to go," said Beth, watching Hermione Granger brush something out of her bushy hair. 

Dumbledore stood up from the lake's edge, where he had been conversing with one of the lake creatures -- merfolk, Beth realized. He turned to the other judges and said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the stands, "A conference before we give the marks, I think." 

The stands quieted down to a rumbling whisper as everyone tried to figure out what the judges were talking about. While the judges deliberated, Madame Pomfrey tended to her patients with a kind of ferocity. The champions -- and now four innocent bystanders -- had been put through such dangerous situations that she was clearly wondering what Dumbledore had been thinking when he'd agreed to revive the Triwizard Tournament. 

Finally the judges broke apart. Ludo Bagman, once more with his magically-enhanced announcer voice, called out over the quieting crowd: 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftaness Murcus --" 

"I have a cousin named Murcus," said Mervin Fletcher. 

"-- has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows ... 

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points." 

Fleur shook her head and held her sister closer. 

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points." 

The Hufflepuff section went collectively nuts. 

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points." 

Viktor didn't seem to notice the applause until Hermione Granger began to clap; then he went pink as a posie and ducked his head. 

"Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect. He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftaness informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own. Most of the judges --" Bagman shot a dirty look at Karkaroff, who curled his goatee imperiously, "-- feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However ... Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points." 

The audience reaction showed all too clearly that Harry Potter was back in the favor of the masses. 

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," Mr. Bagman went on. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions." 

Richard calculated quickly. "That gives us three months off!" he said, looking intensely relieved. 

"And well deserved," Rothbard boomed. "Take a rest, Shaw -- you look like you could use it!" 

"Oh ..." Richard let out a nervous laugh. "I have a few things to take care of before I take a rest." 

"Don't overdo yourself," Rothbard winked. He heaved himself from the bleachers with a grunt, as the audience began to stand and stretch. The S.S.A. joined the crowd of students and spectators that slowly made its way out of the bleachers. 

"That was worth the afternoon," came a voice from nearby. 

Evan Wilkes had appeared among them. "You could've skipped it," said Richard, looking, as always, a bit irritated with the Society's least-sociable member. 

"Mr. Rothbard," said Evan abruptly, "do you think the Dark Lord will rise again?" 

Rothbard's eyes flicked from Evan's face to the bandages on Beth's arm and back so quickly that his head didn't move. "Wilkes, are you?" He let out a great belly laugh. "I certainly don't know. Why are you asking me?" 

"You're our President," said Evan coolly. "You're supposed to know what's going on." 

Rothbard turned to Richard, who shrugged apologetically, and returned to Evan. "I know about my Society," he said, frowning slightly, "not the status of the Dark Lord." 

"Funny," said Evan, "I thought they were related." 

Rothbard opened his mouth to speak; but Evan whisked away and vanished into the crowd. The Society President let out a short chortle. "I say ... he's a ... a cynical sort of chap, isn't he?" 

"He is indeed," Richard agreed. "There should be coaches bound for Hogsmeade, Mr. Rothbard, you can Apparate home from there ... let me take you to them." 

The two made their way around the lake and down the path to the gates of Hogwarts. Beth glanced back into the crowd; Evan had detached himself again and now leaned against one of the posts of the bleachers, watching the Presidents with sharp disinterest. _He is cynical,_ thought Beth, _but there is more to him than that._

***

The task had been so early in the day that it was only noon by the time everyone trudged back into the castle. The house elves had a piping-hot turkey dinner already set out on the long tables in the Great Hall; enthusiastically the students segregated and took their seats. Fleur and her little sister sat with the Ravenclaws; Cho Chang, it was noticed, had forsaken her house in favor of a seat beside Diggory at the Hufflepuff table. Hermione Granger had fled back to the Gryffindors, leaving Viktor among his classmates and Slytherins. He didn't seem upset at having lost the lead in the tournament. If anything, sitting there with dry clothes but damp hair, piling food onto his plate, he looked happier. 

"I can't believe it," Bruce said cheerfully, plunking down beside Viktor as if they had been friends for a decade. "The thing you'd miss most is a _Gryffindor._" 

"Vell, it certainly vasn't _you,_" Viktor grinned, robbing Bruce of his dinner roll. 

"I'm just shocked that it wasn't Karkaroff," Gypsy teased. "The way you two get on ..." 

"Vhy not me?" Josef interrupted, slinging an arm around Viktor's shoulders. 

"You I vould haff left at the bottom of the lake," said Viktor, spooning himself a huge pile of mashed potatoes. He draped the whole ensemble with gravy. "And vould haff been thanked for it." 

"No, you wouldn't," Beth joined in, with a grin. "The merfolk would have _killed_ you." 

Everyone laughed and Josef did his best to look insulted. 

"Of course, it is a shame," came the drawling voice from further down the table. Draco Malfoy had almost as big a retinue as Viktor. 

"What's a shame, Draco?" Pansy urged him. 

"Dreadful pity," Draco said languidly. "All three of them down there, and none of them had the decency to drown." 

Draco's courtiers laughed. Viktor didn't look like he thought it was funny. 


	17. All About Alumni

**Chapter Seventeen: Title Wanted**

"Ungrateful," said Melissa. 

She was looking at Cedric Diggory, who sat on the other side of the library and was making an extremely pointed effort not to look at them. She sounded quite bitter. 

"I mean, after all we did to help him," Melissa went on, "the least he could do was thank us." 

Indeed, Cedric had neither spoken to nor acknowledged any of them since the second task. (He did, however, seem to be spending more time than ever with a certain black-haired Ravenclaw.) Beth supposed he felt guilty about having accepted their help, and was now avoiding them for fear that someone would find out about it. 

"_It doesn't matter,_" Richard insisted, without looking up from his textbook. Beth had finally cajoled him into spending some time preparing for the N.E.W.T.s. "I don't care if he doesn't even remember we did it. If he makes it through this alive, then we've succeeded. Just one task to go," he added. 

"Thank goodness," said Melissa, lips pressed tightly together. 

A soft flapping sound filled the air and a large, black-and-white eagle owl soared through the library to land on Richard's shoulder. Richard accepted the burden with only mild surprise. "I say, Nero. You're late." He tugged a piece of parchment from the owl's beak and stroked its flat head lightly. "Hush now, before Madame Pince has my head." 

Indeed, the librarian was even now leaning over her desk with narrowed eyes. 

Nero hooted irritably and buried his head in his wing. 

Richard ruffled the owl's neck gently. "Ah, Nero," he sighed, as if the name alone told all. Then he took a look at the letter. His eyes widened, then lit up like a child's on Christmas day. 

Beth peered over at it. "Who --?" 

"It's from Riggs!" He tore into the letter eagerly. Almost instantly, his face fell and he slapped the letter back onto the table, leaning heavily back into his chair. 

Beth reached over and gingerly picked up the letter. It contained one line: 

_Send me another letter and I will kill your owl._

"At least now he's writing back," said Beth, putting the letter back down. 

Richard shrugged halfheartedly. 

Beth sighed. When Richard got started on beating himself up, there was no stopping him. "You're doing everything you can," she told him, not expecting an answer. 

"Not everything," said Richard. He heaved a sigh. "Come on, bloke, let's get you to the Owlery." He packed his things and left. Madame Pince kept her eye on him until she was sure that her books were safe from the claws of the owl. 

The library thinned out quickly that evening. Soon it was down to Beth's group, Krum in his Korner, a couple of fourth-year Arithmancy students, Cedric Diggory, and a handful of Ravenclaws who were having a fast and furious argument in some ancient language. Krum left after the Arithmancy people cleared out, with a short nod of his head to Bruce. The Ravenclaws fought for half an hour before storming apart in different directions at five minutes to nine. 

Madame Pince began dimming the lights. Cedric looked up quickly. He glanced around the library to be sure it was empty; then he stood up and made his way to the Slytherins. 

He didn't look like he was coming over to thank them for their help. 

Cedric stopped in front of their table and loomed there for a moment, a strange and tight look on his face. Then he spat out: "I knew you were up to something." 

The three of them stared blankly up at him. 

"What are you talking about?" said Beth carefully. 

Cedric reached into his knapsack and threw a rolled-up parchment onto the table. "_That,_" he said fiercely. It was the S.S.A. map of the lake. "I'll admit, you had me fooled. I was ready to believe that you were actually trying to help --" 

"We were," said Melissa crossly. 

"By giving me a fake map?" said Cedric, in angry disbelief. "I spent half an hour getting bloody lost at the bottom of the lake! Not _only_ does it have North pointing in the wrong direction, it didn't mention the patch of Grindylows smack in the middle ... _or_ the four acres of seaweed ... _or_ the mountain range ... _or_ the caves ... and I _swear_ I saw a kelpie! Where's it say all that on the map?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I should've known ... you deal with a Slytherin, you get duped in the end ..." 

"It's not our fault the map's wrong," said Bruce. "We're trying to keep you alive!" 

"I wonder," said Diggory bitterly. 

Bruce looked at him in baffled anger. Then, close-lipped, he slammed his textbook shut and stood up. 

"Fine," he said in a hard voice, throwing his things into his bookbag. "Fine. Go ahead and get yourself killed. I'm not taking this." He swung his backpack onto his shoulder with such ferocity that two of his quills came loose and flew across the room. "Have fun with the third task. Don't look for _me_ to help you with it." 

"I don't need your help with it," Diggory said angrily. "I solved that riddle myself, in case you've forgotten, and it was me down there fighting off the grindylows. And I was able to find my own way to the merfolk _despite_ your lousy map. And --" he raised his voice, because Bruce had turned his back to leave, "-- I got past that dragon by myself, too! Whatever happens this contest, I've done it _fairly._" 

Bruce turned back around. "Good," he growled. "Now you can just go _die_ fairly too." 

He turned and stalked off. 

***

Bruce "exchanged words" with Diggory again the next morning and came to breakfast looking irritated. 

"He cancelled the Hufflepuff scrimmage," he told them bitterly. "I wanted to see what he was going to do with his defensive side -- they lost the Keeper and a Beater last year, and part of their reserve team is out on injury." 

"He's just afraid he'll get trounced," said Aaron Pucey gleefully. "Can't wait to show him up next season. You going to Hogsmeade this weekend, Bletchley?" 

"Yeah, but not with you," said Bruce. 

Aaron's face fell. "That's what Warrington said too. You couple types are a pain, you know that?" 

"You could go with Blaise," Beth said, ignoring the face that Aaron made at the suggestion. She turned to Maria-Regina. "Is Karkaroff going to let you all go to Hogsmeade this time? It's the last trip, and Viktor doesn't have to get ready for another task for awhile ..." 

"No," sighed Maria-Regina. 

"Even if it meant getting Josef out of his hair for the day?" Beth asked wryly. 

"Not if t'ere's a chance Josef might haff fun," Andrei said gloomily. 

"Oy, Beth!" 

Richard came bustling over from the prefects' table. 

Beth grinned. "Yes?" 

Richard leaned his elbows on the back of an empty chair. "I'm going to meet somebody in Hogsmeade. Want to come along?" 

"Sure!" said Beth. "Who is it?" 

"Great. I'll see you in the Entrance Hall on Saturday and we'll catch a coach together. All right?" 

"Yeah, but who ..." 

"See you then!" Richard strode away cheerily. 

Melissa, running late by the looks of things, came just in time to see Richard stroll back to the prefects' table. She slid in beside Beth, eyes alight. 

"Had a visitor, have we?" 

Beth described the plan as briefly as she could. As she had expected, Melissa was very excited about it. 

"Just you two?" 

"Yes." 

Melissa squealed delightedly. "It knew it! It's a date!" 

"It might be," said Beth wryly, "if we weren't going to meet a third party once we were there." 

Melissa looked deflated. She rallied herself quickly. "Well, who is it?" 

Beth shrugged. "He didn't say. You know Rich, he loves his surprises." 

"Maybe whoever-it-is won't get there right away," said Melissa hopefully. "You'll have a bit of time alone." 

"You know," said Beth, suddenly cross, "maybe I don't _want_ a bit of time alone. Maybe I don't want him to like me at all." 

Melissa gave her a look that was suspiciously like pity. "And maybe," she said, "you should learn to control that blushing." 

She began packing up her books victoriously, and Beth blushed even deeper. 

***

Melissa took it upon herself to fully prepare Beth for the trip to Hogsmeade. 

"If he pays for your drink, it's a date," Melissa said, in a completely factual tone. "That's the Great Indicator. Let him place the order and decide for himself." 

"It's not a date," said Beth, through gritted teeth. 

"We'll see about that," smirked Melissa. 

On the day of the trip, Melissa picked out Beth's wardrobe, insisted on dabbing on some makeup, and made sure she brushed her teeth before the coaches left. Beth started to get nervous despite herself. 

"And don't act too desperate," said Melissa, just as Beth was getting up from the breakfast table to meet Richard out at the coaches. 

"I _won't,_" said Beth, pulling on her cloak. 

Melissa looked her up and down. "On second thought, a little desperation might do you good." 

"Go away," said Beth, and left. 

They didn't talk much on the coach ride to Hogsmeade. Richard was uncommonly quiet, and Beth couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't repetitive or inane. She was relieved when they pulled into Hogsmeade station, got out, and headed for the Three Broomsticks. 

Richard ordered a pair of butterbeers at the bar. Madame Rosmerta tossed him a wink and gave him the second butterbeer for free, at which Richard blushed pink and Beth blushed scarlet. _o much for the Great Indicator,_ Beth thought, as they took seats at a small table along the near wall. 

They chatted about the professors and their classes for a while. Eventually the talk turned to mutual acquaintances: Diggory, the Durmstrangers, and so forth. Richard was pointing out some of his classmates across the room when he paused and took a second look at a table in the back. 

"I say!" he said, with interest. "Who's the little cutie beside Bruce?" 

Beth turned around; she hadn't even known that Bruce was in the tavern. "That's Kiesha, the girl he took to the Yule Ball." 

"Oh yes, the Ravenclaw," said Richard. He sighed. "Another dead end on the search for the Ledger, as I recall." 

"She's very nice," said Beth, a little defensively. 

"I imagine so," said Richard vaguely. 

Beth turned back to Richard. "You know, you never did tell me why we're here." 

Richard grinned. "You'll soon see. In the meantime, let me tell you how I came up with the idea." 

"Idea ...?" said Beth, hoping to lead him into further explanation. 

"I knew we needed a new headquarters," said Richard. "And I thought and thought of where we could have it ... the common room, one of the unused classrooms, the prefects' lounge, even Dumbledore's office ..." 

Beth giggled. "He would've loved that." 

"He wouldn't have minded," said Richard assuredly. "Then I realized: we've already got a place, ready-made and completely empty! All we had to do was call him in and get inside, then we could fix the lock so that all of us could get in whenever we wanted." 

"I don't think I understand," said Beth slowly. 

Richard grinned -- that familiar, proud, infuriating I-know-a-secret grin. "Just wait 'til you see who we're meeting." 

"Who --" she began, but just then a burly, brown-haired young man came up and clapped a hand on Richard's shoulder. 

"Rich! Beth, good to see you!" 

It was Daedalus Dellinger. They both stood up to greet him: Richard shook his hand joyously and Beth gave him a big hug. 

"Dell, how are you!" She remembered something. "Congratulations on your engagement!" 

Daedalus smiled lopsidedly. "Thanks." 

"So how did you do it?" Beth pressed. 

"How did I ... ask the question, you mean?" said Daedalus. "I just sort of handed her the ring. She didn't seem to mind," he added hopefully. 

Richard patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure she didn't," he laughed, "but I imagine you could've been a bit more romantic about it." 

"Funny," said Dell, "that's what she said too." 

They strolled outside, where they could speak more quietly and there were fewer people who might overhear. They talked about the Triwizard Tournament, and getting to know the Durmstrangers; Daedalus told them about his job writing copy for _Transfiguration Today._ "I'm only just doing research and things," he said, "but there's a part-time job as a staff journalist opening up, and I've already wiped three guys out of the running." He smiled shyly. "So long as nobody backstabs me, I think I'm a shoe-in." 

He said all this with a perfectly casual, almost shy demeanor. 

"How long until you're the editor?" Beth teased. 

"Sixteen years," said Daedalus, "provided the old fellow doesn't die too early and Jones retires when he says he will." 

Richard whistled. "Ambitious of you." 

Daedalus shrugged and grinned. "Anything is possible if you have a plan. Oh I say, it's Miss Skeeter." He turned and waved. Across the street, the reporter, followed closely by her photographer, waved back and flashed Richard a knowing smile before disappearing into the Three Broomsticks. 

Richard narrowed his eyes. "You _know_ that beastly woman?" 

"Sure," said Dell, surprised at Richard's reaction. "She does freelance work for _Transfig Today._ Knows quite a fair bit about human transfiguration, that woman. She's brighter than she looks." 

"She's unregistered," said Richard bluntly. 

"Oh," said Daedalus. "Well, who isn't." 

Beth stifled a laugh. "Me. Rich. The rest of Hogwarts." 

"Don't count on it," Daedalus snorted. "Only nine Animagi this whole century? In all of Britain? I mean, it's ridiculous when you think about it. I'd bank on at least two of my coworkers being undercover -- and once, I actually did a piece about unregistered Animagi, and ended up interviewing a talking tortoise that bore an uncanny resemblance to our Head of Marketing." 

Suddenly Beth realized the plan; in fact, she felt a bit silly for not having caught on earlier. There was only one thing that Dell could do that no other Society member could accomplish. "You're going to reopen the Chamber of Secrets!" she cried. "Rich, that's brilliant!" 

"I know," said Richard proudly. "Soon as we've fixed up the lock to open with our rings instead of Parseltongue, it's right there and ready for us. How long do you have off work, Dell?" 

"Just Monday and Tuesday," Daedalus told them. "That should be long enough to fix the door. After that, mate, you're on your own." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm starved. Up for lunch?" 

They were all hungry, so Daedalus led them up to the Grinning Goose. The small restaurant was more crowded than the last time Beth had been there, but they squeezed around a small table and ordered up a plate of appetizers, as it was obvious the wait would be long. 

Richard, a socialite by nature, was hungry for news from the outside. 

"So what's the good word?" he asked, munching on pickles from the appetizer platter. "Sirius Black been caught yet?" 

Daedalus laughed and reached for another appetizer. Between the two of them, they were polishing off the tray easily without Beth's help. "Sirius Black's old news. Now it's a Ministry worker they can't find." 

Richard nodded. "Bertha Jorkins, right. Saw her photo in the Prophet last week." 

"She's been gone since August," said Daedalus. "They're only just now really trying after her." He shrugged. "It's bad for her, but honestly the department doesn't seem to be missing her." 

Beth helped herself to some carrot sticks. "What's Vivian doing these days?" 

"Working in a bookshop south of London. She hates it, she'd like to be doing charms somewhere ... I say! That was fast!" 

The motherly waitress whisked aside the empty platter and dished out three steaming plates of fish and chips. 

The meal was pleasant. So was the conversation; they stayed in the restaurant, sipping coffee and chatting about old times and new experiences until long after the lunch crowd had thinned out. Daedalus was deeply curious about the happenings at Hogwarts the previous year -- very little of it had been leaked to the press, just a few rumors about Sirius Black and a werewolf, enough to whet the appetite. Richard enthusiastically filled him in, with Beth offering a detail once in a while, and then went on (in a quieter voice) about the Society's role in it. Daedalus was impressed that they had succeeded in breaking into Azkaban, but not jealous. 

"Awful things, Dementors," he said, shivering unconsciously. "You couldn't pay me to go near one -- and I've only seen them in passing." 

Finally Richard stretched and looked at his watch. "It's about time to catch the coaches back," he told them, with a faint air of surprise. "Come on, Dell. Don't forget your things." 

Daedalus slung his rucksack over his shoulder and they left, waving a cheery farewell to the waitress. 

The sun had nearly set by now; the roofs of Hogsmeade stood out against a dark blue skyline. The streets still bustled with shoppers. 

Suddenly Richard stopped, with a sharp intake of breath, and clutched Beth's sleeve. "Look," he said breathlessly. 

Beth followed his gaze into the crowd. There were students she knew, even a teacher or two, and some adult wizards as well ... 

"Riggs," said Daedalus. 

Richard's cheeks were flushed. "I've got to talk to him." He started towards him. 

At that moment Randall Riggs turned and caught sight of them. His narrow face went pale; his eyes glinted behind the horn-rimmed glasses. 

Richard held up a hand and called Riggs's name, moving forward. 

Riggs ducked his head. He turned and took a few quick steps toward the crowd. Then he vanished into thin air. 

Richard swore aloud. He turned back to Dell and Beth in deep disappointment. 

"It's not you, Rich," said Daedalus bracingly. "He's avoiding all of us. Vivian met him in London over Christmas, and he just mumbled hello and hurried away." 

"I think I've failed him," said Richard quietly. 

There was a short pause. "I thought he was in Suffolk," said Beth. "What's he doing in Hogsmeade?" 

"That," said Richard, gazing with narrowed eyes at the spot where Riggs had vanished, "is what I'd like to know." 


	18. The Visitor in the Vase Room

**Chapter Eighteen: The Visitor in the Vase Room**

Daedalus rode into Hogwarts in Richard's cloak pocket. ("I hate transfiguring in the winter," he told them. "I get so sluggish. Cold blood, you know.") They set him up in the Vase Room with some blankets and a picnic-style dinner that Mervin got from the house-elves. 

The next day was Sunday; right after breakfast, Richard hunted down all of the members and dragged them all off to the Vase Room to meet the man who would help them get into their new headquarters. 

The members who knew Dell were delighted to see him; the ones who didn't were quickly impressed with his Animagus ability, and spent several minutes coaxing him to change back and forth. 

"The last time I saw you in that form, you were Petrified stiff!" Bruce said with a laugh, as Dell evolved into his human self for the sixth or seventh time. 

Daedalus grinned ruefully and shook off the last trace of scales. "I wouldn't remember that," he said. "That whole time, it was just like ... like a really weird dream." 

"It was like a nightmare," said Mervin fervently. He had been forced to play the part of Daedalus through Transfiguration, his worst (and Dell's best) subject. 

Daedalus laughed. "Richard tells me you need a new headquarters," he said, sitting back down on the low divan that he and Vivian had always occupied. 

Melissa nodded her head. "This one's not secure," she said, looking over her shoulder even as she spoke. "We've lost the Ledger and the cauldron that we make the rings out of." 

Dell let out a low whistle. "You didn't say the Ledger was gone, Rich." 

Richard blushed furiously. "I keep hoping I just dreamt it," he said tightly, head down. 

"You'll get it back," Daedalus said, patting him bracingly on the shoulder. "But until then, I'd be happy to help. We'll have the Chamber of Secrets open and serviceable by Tuesday night." 

The members exchanged delighted glances as they realized what he'd said. 

Melissa wasn't so quick to jump on the bandwagon. "I thought Potter was saying it was all blocked up and things from last time," she said skeptically. "Rockslide or something." 

Dell stretched his arms above his head. "It was for a bit. But when Rich and I went down at the end of the year, we cleared the way -- couple of Repelling charms and there was enough space to get through. You'll want to prop up some of the weaker bits, maybe fix it up so that there are stairs rather than that ruddy drainpipe ..." 

"And we need to change the password," Richard interrupted. "That's why you're here, Dell. We can't get in without a Parselmouth, and right now the only two we have to choose from are you and Potter." 

"What's wrong with just kidnapping Potter?" Daedalus grinned, running a hand through his hair. 

Richard gave him a look. "As I keep telling Evan, I'd rather not rely on plots that could get us thrown into Azkaban." Evan smirked from the corner. "Anyway it'd be hard to do on a weekly basis." 

"Well, like I said, I'm happy to help," said Daedalus. He stood up and stretched. "Ready?" 

A ripple of excitement ran through the members. 

"Dell, I've been ready my whole life," said Richard, clapping a hand onto Daedalus's shoulder, and the Society made its way into the halls towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. 

The lachrymose ghost was nowhere to be found: "Hiding," Melissa guessed, "or sitting about in a drain somewhere." 

Daedalus was inspecting the sinks. "Here we are," he said satisfactorily. "I thought I remembered it was this one ..." There was a quick whooshing sound as Daedalus shrank into snake form. Richard picked him up and set him onto the sink, where he reared up and began hissing at a tiny engraved snake on the side of the metal spigot. 

The wall began to move. 

It was not the smooth grinding and shifting that Beth had seen two years before; this time, the brick moved jerkily, catching in places, to reveal a vast pipe littered with rubble. Potter's landslide, apparently, had taken its toll. 

They crept down the pipe, carefully avoiding the piles of stone that had built up since the last time the Chamber was opened. The end of the pipe opened into a long stone passage; they walked for five minutes before coming across a massive pile of boulders reaching nearly to the ceiling. 

"There's just enough space to get through," said Richard quietly. He had Daedalus, still in snake form, slung around his neck, and Beth thought fleetingly of Mervin's old pet Gina. "Come on." 

He scrambled up the pile of boulders and stayed to help the students through the narrow opening. Finally he crawled through himself and climbed down the other side. They set off again. 

This side of the landslide was a real mess. Detached stalactites and stalagmites lay scattered on the ground like abandoned icicles. In the pale blue glow of wand light, Beth could tell that the walls looked fragmented, shaken. She thought of all the rock above her and shuddered. 

"Here it is," Richard whispered. 

The broad stone doors bore no handle; instead, the pitted surface was adorned with a carved pair of entwined snakes. Faint green light could be seen peeking around the cracks of the door; Beth thought it looked a bit lopsided, like it might have come partially unhinged. Daedalus hissed out an eerie command. The door creaked open. 

One by one, the Society for Slytherin Advancement stepped into the chamber of their predecessor. 

The Chamber of Secrets looked very different from the last time Beth had been inside. Most prominently, the main floor area was now taken up with the twenty-foot-long skeleton of a basilisk, lying twisted as if it had died in great pain. 

"Ah, good," said Richard, rubbing his palms together. "I was hoping it had decomposed. It was pretty disgusting just after it died." 

"It's still not exactly a work of art," said Beth, but Richard had already moved past to examine the rest of the room. 

The Chamber was long and stone, with a greenish glow that Beth guessed was due to the enchanted sconces along the walls. Except for the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin that loomed over the back wall, and the complete lack of furniture, it resembled the common room -- unsurprisingly, for Salazar had built them both. 

"_Coo,_" said Oren, and Beth grinned at his somber amazement. The younger students had never seen the Chamber before; even Evan Wilkes looked impressed at its grandeur. 

Melissa tugged Beth's arm excitedly. "Look, over there's all Salazar's old Potions equipment! And there's Ulysses Donner --" She pointed to the corner, where a stone statue of a boy thrust out his arms in perpetual terror. In fact, it wasn't a statue at all, but a former S.S.A. member who had somehow found his way to the Chamber and been Petrified dead by the basilisk within. 

"Nobody's probably been in here since you left," Bruce told Daedalus, looking around appreciatively. 

"Good!" said Melissa cheerfully. "It's supposed to be a secret headquarters." 

"After all that hoopla the other year, it's about as _not_ secret as you can get," Mervin pointed out. 

Melissa waved him away. "It doesn't matter as long as no one but us can get in. Right, Rich?" 

"Right," he called back, from where he stood beneath the statue of Salazar. "Even Dumbledore couldn't get in here without a bit of help." 

Melissa let out a gasp suddenly. "Dumbledore! Rich, he knows the password to the Vase Room too ..." 

"If he visits and finds us gone, I'm sure he'll just track me down in the prefects' lounge," said Richard absently, now examining a huge stone cauldron that loomed among the potions equipment. 

"No, that's not what I meant!" Melissa hurried over to him, and Beth, alarmed, followed. "Dumbledore could get into the Vase Room any time he wanted ... how do we know he didn't take the Ledger?" 

Rich went pale. "He wouldn't," he said hastily, forcing a confident grin. "Not without asking." He fell silent and Beth wondered exactly how certain he was. 

"Well," said Evan, looking around coolly, "if we're here to work, let's get on with it." 

Richard shot him a look of evident distaste. "Yes, all right." He whistled and the Society gathered in a circle around the feet of Salazar Slytherin. He spread his arms. 

"Here we are, chaps," he said, gesturing around at the vast stone chamber. "Our new home. Needless to say it could use a little fixing up. Scouring Spells over the whole place, fellows, I mean every inch. Oren, Audra, come over here and I'll give you a hand until you've got the hang of them. Everyone else -- let's get cleaning!" 

They stayed in the Chamber of Secrets until it was quite late, taking breaks only for meals, and by the evening they had only just begun to make a dent in the centuries of accumulated dust and debris. It was Daedalus who finally shooed them all to bed, promising to open the chamber for them again after class the next day. At the door to the girls' lavatory he transformed again and went slithering off to the Vase Room. 

After the long night of Scouring Charms, Beth had trouble making it to breakfast on time. She ate her bacon, eggs and kippers without paying attention, listening in a detached way to the conversations around her. Melissa was looking equally exhausted as she flipped expertly through her Ancient Runes textbook to fill out a neglected worksheet. 

Suddenly Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting across the table with Blaise Zabini, let out a short laugh and grabbed at Blaise's sleeve. "Look!" she said excitedly. "It's too precious --" 

Hermione Granger was hurrying away from the Gryffindor table, arms held out in front of her, a look of pain on her face. Each hand was easily as large as one of Hagrid's hands. Blaise and Pansy gaped at each other in silent glee; then the both of them broke into hysterical laughter. 

"I never imagined --" gasped Pansy, tears streaming down her face. 

"I can't believe it," choked Blaise. "This just gets better and better ..." She looked over at Beth. "That article ... those middle-aged witches must be really riled up ..." 

Beth rolled her eyes. She knew she couldn't keep Rita Skeeter from printing stories, but she didn't intend to enjoy them either. 

Pansy Parkinson let out a few last helpless giggles and dabbed at her eyes. Then she shrieked. 

Beth looked around in alarm, but the source of the shriek was instantly obvious. A thick green snake, nearly three feet in length, had slithered onto the table and was now reared up beside Beth's plate, staring at her with its beady black eyes. 

Beth started. Then she let out a shaky laugh. "Oh, him?" she said, awkwardly reaching out to pat the snake on the head. "He's my new pet. Um, I got him in Hogsmeade." 

Pansy was giving her a look reserved for cockroaches and Gryffindors. Blaise, obviously recognizing Dell's snake form, opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. 

The snake coiled around the breakfast plate a few times. Then he came over and nudged Beth's hand, hard. He gestured with his head toward the prefects' table, then nudged her again. 

The students stared. 

"I think I should show him to the prefect," said Beth abruptly, standing up. She grabbed Daedalus in both hands and made a speedy getaway. 

Richard, who had spent so long chatting with the other prefects that he'd hardly started eating, was not thrilled at being dragged away from breakfast, but he followed Beth to a spare classroom. The moment that the door was shut behind them, Daedalus transfigured into a somewhat mussed and distracted-looking human being. 

"I thought you were never going to come see me!" said Daedalus breathlessly. 

"We were going to finish breakfast first," said Richard, somewhat irritably, but Daedalus broke in -- 

"I saw the thief!" 

All the blood ran out of Richard's face. He lunged forward and caught the front of Daedalus's shirt in both fists. "Who was it? Did you catch her? _Where is she now?"_

"Jeez, Rich --" Daedalus pried Richard's fingers off of his collar. "I only saw him for a second --" 

_"You let her get away?"_

"It was the middle of the night!" Daedalus took hold of Richard's shoulders and very firmly steered him across the room and shoved him into a chair. "Sit there and listen. This was late at night -- I mean around three in the morning, late -- and suddenly I was awake. I must've heard a sound or something ..." 

"What did it sound like?" Richard asked eagerly, starting to rise out of his chair. 

Daedalus shoved him down again. "I don't know, I was asleep! A squeak maybe ... a creak ... could've been the door, now that I think on it ... anyway point is I woke up, and I see someone standing across the room. Gave me a nasty shock, I can't tell you ..." 

"Who was it?" Richard said. He sounded quite shrill. 

"I couldn't _see_ the face," said Daedalus, "it was _pitch black,_ remember? I remember thinking that it was rather a short person. Not as short as Flitwick, say, but on the small side. They were wearing this enormous cloak, though, I couldn't tell if they were skinny or fat or what. They could've even been hunched over under there. I gave a little gasp or something, and they turned, spotted me, and vanished." 

"Vanished?" roared Richard, standing up again. "You can't just _vanish_ --" 

"You can, and it did," Daedalus said stubbornly. "I lit my wand and looked around -- there was nothing. It must've Disapparated." 

"I thought you couldn't Disapparate on the grounds," said Richard. He bit his lip and began to pace around the classroom. 

"Actually," said Beth, "you can go between rooms. You just can't Apparate onto or out of the grounds, or into or out of the castle. Vivian told me once." 

"Convenient for them," growled Richard, still pacing furiously. "You say you didn't find anything? Any trace of them? Not a -- a red hair, or anything?" 

Daedalus raised his eyebrows. "A red one, specifically?" 

"Well --" said Richard helplessly. "Anything?" 

"I didn't exactly scour the place just yet," Daedalus said, sounding cross. 

The chime for class sounded. Beth looked up anxiously. "Rich -- we have class --" 

Richard mumbled something about also having a burglar. 

"Okay, look, Rich," said Daedalus quickly. "I'm going to spend the day working on the Chamber. You guys go on to class and _don't worry about it._ You can check out the Vase Room whenever you have a chance. Nothing in there is going to disappear while you're gone." 

"The Ledger did," said Richard coldly, and he stormed out to class. 

Beth looked up at Daedalus, shrugged apologetically, and hurried off to Potions. 

The class was still filling when Beth arrived, so she had time to ask Professor Snape to order her some horsehair for her Alchemy project before she slid into place beside Melissa. 

"What did Dell want?" Melissa muttered. 

"Tell you later," Beth murmured back. 

Professor Snape swept soundlessly to the front of the classroom. "Time seems to be escaping us," he said. "It is now early March --" his tone turned dark "-- and I have yet to see a student correctly brew a simple Silencing potion." 

Beth heaved a sigh. She'd been so close last time ... if only she hadn't let it boil quite so long. 

"Be that as it may, you will be spending your class time in yet another attempt at getting it right. I trust that you have all brought along your recipes ... although by now, I would not doubt that you have them memorized. Begin." 

Beth and Melissa worked efficiently; after so many failed attempts, they were very familiar with the test setup. In no time, their potion base was simmering and the ingredients were neatly shredded, diced and minced. 

Melissa had a mercury thermometer stuck in the potion and was watching it with an eagle eye. "Eighty-five degrees," she reported. 

"Turn down the fire -- we can't let it get above ninety," Beth instructed her. She reached for the beaker of hens' teeth. "Almost time ..." The potion faded to a rosy pink, then bubbles began to rise and it went as clear as water. Instantly, Beth tipped out the beaker of hens' teeth. They dissolved on impact. 

Dissolved ...? 

A thick milky-white color swept through the potion and Beth let out an involuntary wail. Hen's teeth didn't dissolve right away -- only fake ones did -- the kind you got at Zonko's joke shop. She hastily poured out another ounce of hen's teeth and dumped it into the potion, with Melissa stirring furiously. 

It was too late. The potion was a thick milky pink and hardening by the second. 

For a moment Beth just stared at the ruined potion. Then she whirled around to face the Weasley twins, who were ladling a perfectly-brewed Silencing potion into glass bottles and looking quite satisfied with themselves. She felt an angry blush rise in her cheeks. 

"I don't believe you two!" she said, overcome with anger and disgust. "What is _with_ you? You screw up my potions, you insult my classmates, you put _poison ivy_ down my robes --" 

The Weasley twins, who had been nodding smugly in tandem, stopped and exchanged a glance. 

"You praise us too highly," said one extravagantly -- a cocky folk hero reacting to his own overblown legends. 

"Good idea, though," the other one added. 

"-- you do anything and everything you can to make life horrible for everybody!" Beth went on, afraid that if she let them interrupt she'd never finish speaking. "What could you _possibly_ get out of it? Why on earth do you do it?" 

They glanced at each other, and Beth wondered (not for the first time) if they shared some kind of weird twin-telepathy. 

"It's fun," said one. 

"It's funny," said the other. 

The bell chimed to end class. 

"I hate you both," Beth snarled, but if she had more to say, she was out of time. The Gryffindors and Slytherins packed up their supplies and parted ways. 

It was only later in D.A.D.A. that Beth thought over what they'd said. It seemed to her that they were denying the poison ivy incident. That didn't seem like them ... the twins were proud of their vagrant status. _If it wasn't the twins,_ she thought, _then who?_ But then Professor Moody barked out an order, the whole class jumped, and the question fled from her mind. 

Beth endured D.A.D.A. and Apparators' Ed before lunch. (She sat beside Cedric in the latter; he wouldn't even look at her.) As soon as the last bell rang, she scrambled to the Great Hall to see if there was any news from the Society. Richard wasn't there, and Dell didn't show up either, so she had to go back to afternoon classes no more enlightened than before. 

Instead of going to dinner, she went straight to the Vase Room after class. Daedalus was there, halfway through a chicken-salad sandwich. Beth didn't even have time to ask how his search had gone before Richard burst in anxiously and asked the same thing. 

It turned out that there were red hairs all over the Vase Room. There were lots of blonde, brown, and black hairs too. 

"Don't you people ever dust?" Daedalus said, motioning to the pile of shed hair which he had gathered onto a piece of parchment on one of the low sofas. 

Richard ignored him. "The Office of Magical Law Enforcement has a potion to analyze the source of hairs," he said, glancing at Beth. "We'll have to do them all." 

Beth shook her head. "There are a hundred of them, Rich," she told him. "The potion takes weeks to brew, and it's tricky -- we couldn't get it the first time, with all of us working together. Then it takes a week after that to get results. We haven't got enough equipment to run them all at the same time, it would take several batches ..." She sighed. "The point is, by the time we finished, the school year would be over." 

Daedalus put aside his sandwich and looked up at Richard. "Let it go, Rich," he said calmly. "There's nothing more you can do here. Let them have the Vase Room. You've got a better headquarters now, and they can't get into that one." 

Richard looked around at the vases. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, "You're right. All we can do is get out." He took a deep breath. "You're right," he said again, shaking his head. "But I hate to leave it." 

***

Daedalus stayed one more day, helping Oren work up a new locking system. When they were done, the jeweled eye of one of the engraved serpents was replaced with a round indentation that fit the rings perfectly. The crest of the Society would open the Chamber. 

They moved all of the furniture from the Vase Room to the Chamber of Secrets over the next week or so, using the Shrinking Spells that they'd learned in Flitwick's class. (Except, of course, the vases. "It may not be a secret anymore," Richard shrugged, a little sadly, "but there's no reason to ruin a pretty room.") With the podium set up at Salazar's feet and the sofas and single armchair clustered around it, the dark stone chamber actually took on a comfortable look. Herne added sconces until the room lost its foreboding dimness; Blaise and Morag spent an afternoon Transfiguring an old copy of the Daily Prophet into a big shaggy rug that they threw in the middle of the floor. Oren tinkered with the new lock until the door glided open so smoothly that it would have looked more appropriate on a spaceship than in a Scottish castle. 

They left the skeleton of the basilisk intact. 

"I think it's cool," Bruce shrugged, as a handful of them went to breakfast after an early morning of cleaning the massive Chamber. "How many folks have those in their secret headquarters?" 

"How many folks have secret headquarters at all?" Richard grinned. His mood had much improved. With its basilisk dead, the Chamber of Secrets had fallen back into the stuff of legends and lazy remembrances. They had left nothing in the Vase Room to indicate where they had gone; only the Society knew that the Chamber was serviceable, and only a Society ring would open the lock even if it was found. 

"Only the clever ones," said Gypsy sweetly, coming up beside him and pecking him on the cheek. 

Beth glanced away and ran a quick blush. When they reached the Great Hall, she peeled away from the group and took a seat at the other end of the table, near Warrington and Antigone but far enough that she could count on being alone. 

"Goot morning, Beth!" 

As usual, she was wrong. 

Josef came up behind her, grinning. He caught a look at her face and tilted his head quizzically. "Vot is wrong?" 

"My -- my burn hurts," she lied, and rubbed her arm to prove it. 

Josef tutted sympathetically. "You know vhat vill make it feel better?" He climbed into the chair beside her. "Going vith me to the Yule Ball." 

She gave him an exasperated look. "I already went with you to the Yule Ball." 

"And it didn't hurt then, did it?" he said triumphantly. 

Beth just looked at Josef, grinning as if he owned the world. No response seemed appropriate, so she said, "Good point," and went back to eating. 

"Vell, vant to go vith me again?" Josef persisted. 

"Josef," said Beth, very slowly and clearly, "they're probably not going to have another one until the next Tournament. Five years from now." 

"Of course." Josef looked thoughtful. "Vell," he said again, "vant to go for a valk by t'e lake tonight?" 

"I have Alchemy homework," said Beth, who had really finished all but one problem the night before. 

"Goot, I'll meet you after supper," he said cheerfully, and got up and left. 

"But I said --" Beth called after him, but he was already gone. 

***

The invitation caused Melissa unimaginable excitement. 

"This one really _is_ a date!" she squealed, bouncing up and down on her canopy bed. "Okay, now make sure you brush your teeth before you go. If you want to be alone you can use the broom shed, the Astronomy Tower or one of the empty classrooms -- and you'll want to remember to put a Silencing Charm on the door --" 

Beth was not curious as to how Melissa knew all this. "It is _not a date,_" she said, for perhaps the tenth time all year. "And besides, I didn't even agree to go along!" 

"_Honestly,_ Beth," said Melissa, with a melodramatic groan, "you're being pursued by this gorgeous foreign fellow. _Please_ try to enjoy it!" 

"He's not that gorgeous," Beth snapped back, her voice brittle, but Melissa's words gave her pause. A year ago she hadn't been pursued by anyone at all. So Josef wasn't her first choice ... did she have to rule him out entirely? 

Melissa must have seen the thoughts run behind Beth's eyes. She nodded satisfactorily. "You're going to have a good time," she told Beth, as if it was in her power to assure it. "Just don't forget about the Astronomy Tower." 

"We are not going to end up in the Astronomy Tower!" Beth howled. 

"Tell me that when you get back," said Melissa stubbornly. 

***

Josef was looking more exuberant than usual at dinner that night. Immediately after, he disappeared -- Beth thought she was off scot-free until he came back with one of the enormous shaggy Durmstrang cloaks in hand. 

"Ready to go?" he said cheerily, holding out the cloak. 

Beth cast a helpless glance at Melissa, who only smirked and settled back in her chair. "I --" She looked around and found no escape. "Oh, all right." 

She followed him to the Entrance Hall. 

"You know, you really didn't have to bring one of your school cloaks for me," said Beth, sliding on the thick-furred cape. "I've got my own." 

"Of course," said Josef. "But yours makes you look like you're from Hogvarts." 

"What's wrong with -- ooooh," she finished, catching on. A Durmstrang student was less likely to get in trouble for wandering the grounds at night; moreover, if Karkaroff noticed them, he would think they were two of his own. "Good thinking," she said, impressed. 

Josef shrugged, looking bashful for the first time Beth could remember. He snapped out of it quickly. "Let's go before ve are stopped," he said, and the two of them went down the stone steps and into the chilly March night. 

The moon was full and luminous against the winter sky and snowy grounds. Beth tilted her head to it and wondered briefly where Professor Lupin was at the moment -- running around in wolfskin somewhere, no doubt. Josef, too, gazed at the moon. "_Krasivi,_" he said. 

Beth glanced over at him with a wry grin. She remembered the phrase from the Yule Ball. "Starving, are you?" 

Astonishingly, Josef flushed a brilliant red. "It means, 'beautiful'," he said awkwardly. 

Beth's mouth dropped open. "Oh." She blushed as red as Josef and from then on didn't look over at him much. 

The icy wind across the lake gave little indication that spring was just around the corner. Beth's breath came out as billowing white as the snow; the tip of Josef's nose grew red in the cold. The Durmstrang ship shimmered with glittering lights from the small porthole windows. They walked along the edge of the shore quietly. Josef was unnaturally silent. Beth was actually relieved when, after they had reached the lake and left the castle far behind, Josef said, "I haff a riddle for you." 

She looked at him questioningly. 

"T'ere is a strange script written on blue velvet parchment," said Josef, with a ghost of smile, "vhich no priest or prelate is learned enough to read." 

It was like no riddle Beth had ever heard. "A strange script on blue velvet parchment," she repeated. Was she supposed to guess what the script was? -- it was more like a poem than a riddle. She tried to guess. "A blue velvet parchment could be ... the lake? Or ... a cloth ..." She remembered the riddle from the Sphinx, when the Society had ventured into the Forbidden Forest after a fruit that would cure Daedalus Dellinger from his Petrified state. Then there had been five of them to solve it. She wished they were here now. 

Josef was shaking his head and smiling. "T'e blue parchment," he coaxed, with a grand sweep of his hand, "is above us ..." 

Beth looked up into the velvet sky. "And the script," she said softly, "is the stars ..." 

"Vell done!" said Josef, though he had all but given her the answer. He began to sing in a low voice: 

_            T'e moon goes low and calmly rides   
            The shadow's way, around the tides   
            And through the forest branches sees   
            T'e voods of whispers, and the trees   
            Endless stars!   
            Endless moon!   
            The night abides amid the breeze.
_

He sang without pretense and without showmanship. Beth had the idea he wasn't singing either to himself or to her ... the clear voice covered the night ... perhaps he was singing to the moon itself. The song ended as quietly as it had begun. 

"_Krasivi,_" Beth breathed. 

Josef gave her a quick, half-embarrassed look. "Just a little song," he said. He looked up into the stars, almost for guidance. Then he hesitantly reached out and took her hand. 

Her first reaction was to pull away, and, eyes startled wide, she began to -- but immediately she stopped herself. Josef's fingers were cool, and his face was subtly anxious. She forced herself to relax. _A very normal thing to do, Parson,_ she told herself, heart beating fast, and there were Melissa's words again: "At least try to enjoy it!" _All right,_ she thought firmly. _I'll enjoy it._

She laced her fingers around Josef's and smiled up at him. He looked quite relieved. 

Josef talked continuously for the next fifteen minutes. He told Beth about his classes at Durmstrang and some of his friends that hadn't come to compete; he told stories about the professors, monsters and spirits that made their home on the school grounds. He talked about his family: a mother in Poland, a father in Ukraine and a younger pair of twin sisters whom he obviously adored. 

"Do they go to Durmstrang too?" Beth asked. 

"They do not," Josef said. He changed topics and left Beth wondering. 

Finally they reached the far side of the lake. At the edge of the forest, a long shelf of rock sprang up from the earth; Josef led her to it and lit a warm sky-blue fire on the ground while Beth perched on an outcropping. 

They sat silently side by side, watching the stars. Beth let her head rest on Josef's shoulder. It was nice, she thought lazily, to be near a boy ... to watch the angles of his face change as he talked, to catch the musky masculine smell ... to sense his strength and surety ... it was nice to be looked at so tenderly ... 

She was so at ease that she almost didn't notice when Josef leaned over and kissed her lips. 

Beth let herself fall into the strange softness of the kiss. Her eyes closed, she took in the new taste and sweet pressure and frightening closeness with a kind of dreamy acceptance. Boys, she thought, were all right. They were rather stupid, and could be entirely frustrating, like Richard ... 

Her eyes flew open. 

_Richard._

She jerked away from Josef and a crimson flush burst onto her cheeks. What was she _doing?_ It was Richard she wanted to be sitting here with, Richard she wanted to be kissing, and it wasn't -- it wasn't fair to anybody, to be here with Josef now -- 

Josef stared at her, stunned. 

"I -- I can't." The complete wrongness of the situation struck her all at once and she got up off the rock, flustered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." 

For a moment Josef just watched her in frozen bewilderment. Then his lips thinned and a strange stiffness fell over his face -- no, his entire bearing. He stood up. "Perhaps you are right." Even his voice was newly curt. His shoulders were rigid, proud. "I vill valk you back to t'e castle." 

Beth looked away. "You don't have to --" 

"It is dark and it is dangerous," he said shortly. "Come." 

Beth hurried to keep up with his long strides, looking up at him anxiously. All traces of humor had fled, leaving -- what? Not anger, distinctly, or even hurt ... perhaps a coldness, that rivaled even the chill of the air? 

Neither of them spoke on the swift, impersonal walk back to the castle. At the foot of the great stone steps, Josef stopped and waited for Beth to enter. She couldn't let him go back to the ship without understanding. She had to try again. 

"Josef, I'm -- I'm so sorry --" 

"Do not trouble yourself," Josef broke in, this time allowing a bare hint of the sarcastic to creep into his tone. "After all, t'e _szlama_ haff no hearts." 

"The what?" Beth felt profoundly stupid and cruel. 

"Good evening." Josef turned on his heel and strode across the grounds to the Durmstrang ship, bobbing merrily on the waves with its many portholes glimmering with light. 

Beth watched him go with the heartsick feeling that something irreparable had been torn. 


	19. Final Exams

**Chapter Nineteen: Final Exams**

Beth stood in the Entrance Hall, not knowing where to go to talk about what had happened with Josef. She couldn't talk to Richard, obviously, though she wanted to, and Melissa was likely to kill her for treating her "gorgeous foreign suitor" so harshly. Antigone would have been knowledgeable but was completely untrustworthy. Cold, tired, and frustrated, she went to seek out Bruce Bletchley. 

Bruce was in the common room, flipping distractedly through some Charms notes. Beth had intended to quietly approach him, objectively describe what had happened and calmly request advice. Somehow it didn't happen. Instead, she let out a wail and sank down into the chair beside him. 

"Bruce, you have to help me! Josef hates me and I don't know what to do ..." 

Eventually the important points came out. Bruce leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. "Well," he said carefully, "you could start by apologizing for breaking his heart." 

"_I_ didn't break his heart," Beth snapped, "he's the stupid git who jumped to conclusions." She let out a wail. "I broke his _heart,_ didn't I?" 

"Yeah." Bruce looked thoughtful again. "Did he say anything before he left? Did he sound mad?" 

"I don't know, it was half in Russian or something," said Beth, shaking her head. "He just said, 'The szlama have no hearts' and just _left._" 

"The szlama," Bruce repeated, furrowing his brow. "Szlama ..." His face cleared into understanding. "Oh, Beth -- he's a Muggle-born!" 

Beth was as stunned as Bruce. "A Muggle-born," she repeated. "That idiot, he thinks I hate him because he's -- but I didn't even know ..." 

"I never would've guessed," said Bruce. "I can't believe they let him in Durmstrang." 

A slow understanding burrowed to the top of Beth's mind. "Karkaroff knows." 

"Huh?" Bruce looked up at her. 

"Karkaroff knows," she said again, surprised at her own words. "That's why he hates Josef so much. He can't stand to see a Muggle-born in his school ... I wonder how he even got in ..." 

"You've got to go talk to him," said Bruce, in a tone that indicated that it was his last bit of advice and he was washing his hands of the whole business. 

Beth sighed. She'd known that would be the answer, of course, but she still didn't like it. 

***

Beth avoided speaking with Josef for several days, unable to find the nerve -- but it soon became clear that not speaking with him was much worse. He was there at every meal, surrounding himself with his classmates, utterly ignoring her. The coldness was unbearable. Even his classmates seemed to be cooler toward Beth. Finally, after three days of this, Beth gathered her courage and went to find Josef. 

He was in the library, sitting by himself, surrounded by textbooks with foreign titles. He glanced up to see who it was and immediately went back to his work, scrawling busily on his parchment, thumbing through books. 

"I need to talk to you, Josef." 

Josef shrugged a little, uninvitingly. 

Beth sat down anyway. She waited a minute to see if Josef would say anything at all. He didn't. She wasn't sure how to start out, so she got straight to the point. "I had to get Bruce to tell me what _szlama_ means." 

Josef let out a short "Hm," of complete disinterest. 

"It's true," said Beth, not expecting him to believe her. "I didn't even know you were Muggle-born until then. And I don't care. _My_ dad's a Squib." 

Josef glanced over at her through narrowed eyes, but Beth thought he looked more hurt than angry. "Then vhy?" he said shortly. 

Beth hesitated. Why not Josef? He was clever and funny. He really wasn't that bad-looking. He cared about her, or did a good job of pretending; he was interested in her, he was upset that she wasn't falling into his arms like he'd hoped. Why not? 

Because of the name that came into her mind when he kissed her. 

"I know this sounds stupid," said Beth, "but it's not you. I just ... I can't stop thinking about Richard. I'm sorry." 

Josef was silent for a moment. "I t'ink I knew that," he said at last. "I am sorry too." 

"Friends?" 

Josef looked at her and shrugged. Beth thought some of the old grin was back around the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps in a week or so," he said. 

Beth smiled back. 

***

Time passed quietly for the next few weeks. Spring came in with blowing winds and cool mornings, finally giving way to long, warm days. 

Josef and Beth remained on speaking terms. Their interactions became more careful now, strangely courteous. Beth missed the flagrant flirting and the warm teasing. She had given up Josef in favor of Richard, but it was hard to overlook the fact that Richard was spending a lot of time with Gypsy, and it didn't always look like they were studying. 

Cedric Diggory maintained his coolness toward the Slytherins. It was hard to tell whether or not he'd forgiven them for giving him an erroneous map of the lake -- it was certain, however, that he wasn't going to let them mislead him again, accidentally or on purpose. 

Mervin was dumped by his Hufflepuff girlfriend in late April, in favor of a skinny Ravenclaw named Lucas. He had little to say on the subject, but his grades began to pick up immediately. 

Beth's burn healed enough that the bandages on her arm could be permanently removed. The scar it left was ugly: pink-rimmed and blotchy, covering most of her inner forearm. Beth went to Madame Pince looking for scar-removal spells, only to hear that Dumbledore didn't approve of them. She wasn't sure why. Apparently it had something to do with the Headmaster's left knee and the London underground. Resigned to bearing the scar for the rest of her life, Beth continued wearing long-sleeved shirts despite the warming weather. 

The Slytherins went down to breakfast one morning to find the Durmstrang students in quite a state. Viktor bore a large bruise on his head. 

"What happened?" asked Richard, sitting down among them, while the Slytherins crowded around curiously. 

Gypsy was livid. "He was out with the Champions last night," she said angrily, before Viktor could get a word in, "and he went off alone to talk to Harry Potter, and this crazy old man came out of the forest and started ranting about You-Know-Who!" She was so vehement that some of her classmates flinched as if she had actually said the unspeakable name. "Potter ran off to get help, and Viktor was attacked. _Attacked!_" 

"I vos only Stupefied," Viktor put in. 

"You could've died," Gypsy told him. She turned back to Richard. "The crazy old man has disappeared." 

"Who --" Richard began. 

"_Mr. Crouch!"_ Gypsy exploded. "A Triwizard _judge!_" 

"I don't know if it vos Mr. Crouch," Viktor ventured. "I did not see who had cast t'e spell." 

"Don't be ridiculous, who else could it have been?" Gypsy barked. 

Bruce spoke up. "It could've been Potter." 

There was a short silence. Viktor did not look convinced. "I don't t'ink it vos Potter, either." 

"He could've done it," said Melissa. "Nobody seems to remember this, but he _killed_ Professor Quirrell." 

"Long story," Richard murmured to Gypsy, who looked alarmed. 

"And defeated the Dark Lord -- what, twice now? And he slew a basilisk," Beth added. 

"Three times," Melissa corrected. "Oh, and once he flew a car into a tree. And the other summer he blew up his aunt and ran away from home -- the Ministry was all abuzz." 

"And he sicced that snake on that Hufflepuff kid," said Bruce. "In second year, remember? At the Dueling Club. Everybody saw it. And his godfather is a murderer escaped from Azkaban!" 

Viktor still looked dubious. "He vos very civil to me," he said. 

"He's a Gryffindor, that's how they operate," said Melissa, looking suddenly bitter. "What were you even thinking, going out to talk with him alone in the middle of the night?" 

Viktor flushed and would not answer. 

"And one time he beat up a mountain troll," Bruce added. 

The Durmstrangers were quite impressed. 

***

The unexplained attack on the Durmstrang champion somehow didn't make it into the school rumor mills -- the lump on Viktor's head was blamed on vigorous Quidditch practice, and excessive training for the Third Task, and a secret duel with a vengeful Beauxbatons student who was somehow related to Aidan Lynch. Karkaroff was telling his students that Dumbledore had somehow instructed Mr. Crouch to take Viktor out of the Tournament. They didn't believe a word of it ... but not knowing what else to think, and protective of their friend, they started to hang together in a tighter clique -- much like they had at the very beginning of the year. 

Richard broached the subject at the beginning of the S.S.A. meeting that week. 

"Viktor and Potter are approached in the middle of the night by a crazy Mr. Crouch," said Richard, pacing back and forth in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin. "Potter leaves and comes back to find Viktor stunned and Crouch missing." There was a lot more space in the Chamber than there'd been in the Vase Room. His pacing habit had been getting worse. 

"Who attacked Viktor? Crouch, or an outside actor? Was he going after Viktor or Potter? Both? How did he get inside the school grounds -- did he plan to be there, or was it an accidental meeting? He left Viktor alive and he let Potter go for help, probably he could've killed them both ..." Richard stopped in the center of the statue and looked over the membership. "There's something going on, chaps ... something ... I wish we'd been there to hear what went on." 

"I've told you everything Viktor heard," Gypsy said, with a little sigh. "Crouch was ranting. Tea with Cornelius Fudge ... Dumbledore, twelve owls, Bertha someone, Harry Potter ... the Dark Lord ... somebody named Weatherby ... none of it made sense. It was nonsense." 

"It made sense to him," Oren spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged, suddenly bashful. 

"You're right," said Richard thoughtfully. "It _must_ be connected -- Crouch thought he was talking sense." He paused. "If Diggory weren't furious at us --" here he glared at Bruce "-- we might ask him to help figure it out. I doubt it's coincidence that two of the Champions were involved." 

Bruce rolled his eyes and looked away. 

"All right, whatever," said Richard, frustrated. "Next topic. I know this is futile, but I can't help asking. Does anyone know anything about our Ledger or our cauldron?" 

To Beth's surprise, Herne Rudisille stood up. "I have something," he said, somewhat shyly. 

Richard too looked astonished. "Really? What is it?" 

"Remember how somebody thought that Ginny Weasley got some accomplices to take the cauldron, while she was at the Yule Ball?" said Herne. "Well, whether it's her or not, that's not why the twins are acting all suspicious." 

Evan cocked an eyebrow sardonically. "Oh? Read their minds, did you?" 

"No." Herne held up a slightly wrinkled parchment. "I read their mail." 

Beth broke into a grin. Blaise and Oren both looked a bit scandalized, but Evan seemed impressed. "What do you know. Rudisille's learned to play dirty!" 

"Whatever it takes to find the Ledger," said Richard seriously. "Go on, Herne. What's it say?" 

Herne opened the paper and began to read. 

        _Dear Mr. Bagman: _

        We have not yet received the winnings from our bet with you over the   
        results of the World Cup, or even our money back. 

        It has come to our attention that Mr. Leonard Jordan was also paid in   
        leprechaun gold and has not yet received his actual winnings or a refund.   
        We are aware of your dealings with the goblins. If you do not pay off   
        everyone you owe, we will be forced to collect our money in some other   
        way. 

        Hoping to hear from you soon,   
        Fred and George Weasley 

When he had finished, the Chamber of Secrets sat in silence for a moment. Then Mervin spoke up. 

"Herne's not the only one who's learned to play dirty," he said. "That's blackmail!" 

"I'd say it's more of a light beige," said Herne, holding up the letter. 

"No, eggshell," said Melissa. 

"I was thinking a creamy tan," said Bruce thoughtfully. 

"Ha ha ha," Mervin said. "But I mean what I said. The Weasleys are blackmailing Ludo Bagman." A great hope blossomed on his face. "We could get them in _really big trouble_ for this!" 

"We aren't here to get the Gryffindors in trouble," said Richard severely. 

"Nae, but 'tis a bonny bonus," Morag said cheerfully. 

Richard shook his head. "There's no _benefit_ in us turning them in," he insisted. "Listen, if we catch them legitimately I'll play prefect and go to Snape about it. But I don't think it'll look good on us if we admit to having shot down their owl so we could read their correspondence." 

"The owl recovered," said Herne. 

"We are not turning them in," said Richard firmly. 

That proclamation more or less ended the meeting. The members chatted for a few idle minutes; then they got up and began to filter back into the dark hallway. 

Audra Verona stopped in the doorway. As Evan Wilkes passed by, she reached out and touched his hand. "Evan." 

The dark-haired boy jerked angrily away from her fingers. "What?" 

Audra met his eyes, delicate and calm as a bird. "I know what you hide." 

Without a word, Evan shoved past her and stormed out the door. It occurred to Beth that she had never before seen him look frightened. 

***

The attack on Viktor was so distracting that it was several days before anyone realized that something else had come out of the champions' meeting: details of the third task. 

"A maze," said Melissa, leaning across the breakfast table so that only Beth, Bruce and Mervin could hear her. "Full of obstacles." 

"What kind of obstacles?" Bruce wondered, around his sausage. 

"That's the problem," said Melissa. "We don't know. It could be anything. Cedric has to be prepared to meet curses, spells, blockades, monsters, ghosts, and I don't even know what else." She glanced at Bruce. "I know he's furious with us, but we have to give him a hand." 

Bruce looked down at his plate. 

"How?" asked Beth. "We can't get near him." 

"We have to try," Melissa said firmly. "Maybe all we can do is slip him something to read, countercurses or something. Anything that could help." 

"Mervin has a million books of curses under his bed," said Bruce. "We can loan them to Diggory." 

Beth shook her head. "Even if he's prepared, he's going to have to be so careful ..." 

"Constant vigilance," came a gloomy voice next to them. 

Beth jumped. It took her a minute to recognize the person sitting beside them. If Evan Wilkes had looked ill over the previous week, now he seemed to be on the verge of death. Huge, dark circles lay under his eyes, and his face was pallid and implacable. With black hair falling into his half-lidded eyes, it was difficult to tell what he was looking at -- if anything. 

"Good lord," said Bruce, alarmed, "you look like hell." 

"Go there," said Evan shortly, and moved down several places. 

Mervin watched as Evan picked around some eggs and finally pushed them away without eating. "At least he's his usual cheery self," he commented. 

Melissa gave him a dirty look. "I'm worried about him," she said. "He's never looked so bad." 

Feathers and letters rained down on the company as the postal owls made their morning run. Beth got a note from Lycaeon -- just a few scrawled lines, but it was enough to put a smile on her face. She put it away carefully. She'd never thrown away one of her brother's letters. 

A big pink envelope wafted to Melissa's place. She tore it open, brow furrowed, and read through the enclosed letter. Her classmates watched with interest. Finally Melissa put the letter back in its envelope, folded it in half, and set it on fire. 

"Galen," said Melissa. 

Beth watched the letter burn to ashes. 

"He's crazy," said Melissa, as Bruce poked uncertainly at the ashes with his fork. "Wrote one of those awful poems. He always was a terrible poet." 

Beth didn't say anything. 

"He's crazy," Melissa said again. Then she went back to her food. 

She didn't talk about it again until breakfast was over and they were on the way down the hall. With no preface, she burst out, "He wants me back. The utter twit." 

Beth knew better than to offer an opinion on the subject -- sometimes it was safer to let Melissa rant. "Oh." 

"What is he thinking? That I'm just going to forgive him for completely ditching me?" Melissa threw up her hands, narrowly missing a passing Gryffindor. "That I'm just going to go running back to his obsessive, bad-poetry-writing, well-defined arms? That I'll just --" 

"Hang on, Mel," Bruce said, holding out an arm to shush her. "Look over there." 

Evan had stopped halfway down the hall and was now leaning against one of the walls, head down. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. "Evan, are you all right?" Melissa said, touching him on the shoulder. 

Evan jerked away from her touch. His eyes flew open. "Fine," he snarled. "Right as rain. Go away." He started down the hall again. 

Melissa turned to Beth, concern written all over her face. "What's the matter with ..." 

She broke off with a gasp. Several paces away, Evan Wilkes stopped, swayed, and sprawled face-down in the corridor in a sudden and complete faint. 

***

Beth was too startled to act right away, but Melissa sprang toward Evan almost as soon as he hit the floor. Battling to keep would-be spectators at bay, she called for Bruce and Warrington to lift up the still-unconscious boy (although Beth thought that just Warrington would have been enough). The cluster of them fought through the between-classes crowd toward the hospital wing. 

Madame Pomfrey caught sight of Beth first, and a weary recognition crossed her face. 

"What've you done to your arm this time, dear?" 

"Nothing this time," said Beth. As she spoke, Bruce and Warrington shuffled inside with Evan strung between them. Madame Pomfrey's eyes grew wide. 

"Not -- Petrification?" 

She rushed to the cot where the boys were clumsily laying out Evan. Seeing his limp form, she relaxed immediately. "Did you see it? Was it a charm or natural?" 

"We think he fainted," Melissa reported. Bruce and Warrington backed out, murmuring about telling Professor Binns that the girls would be late for class. "He was alone in the hallway -- I don't think it was a curse." 

"We'll see," said Madame Pomfrey. She pulled out a short, clear glass cylinder from her breast pocket and popped it under Evan's tongue. She whisked it out a moment later. The end was now pale blue. 

"That's it," she said, sounding relieved. "An honest fainting spell. Watch him for a moment, dears, while I fetch my potion." She bustled away. 

"I hope her fainting potion's better than her burn ointment," Beth commented. Just being in the infirmary gave her arm a nagging itch. "I've still got scabs all over my arm." 

"Thanks for the update," said Melissa, a hint of disgust in her tone. She looked down at Evan, pale and still and somehow looking more innocent, with his head tilted on the pillow and his mouth slightly agape. Evan's hand slid from his chest and flopped down to hang over the edge of the bed. As it did, his sleeve caught on something and his arm was left bare. 

Not entirely bare. A series of parallel gashes, each white-rimmed and new, lined the pale inside of his forearm. 

Melissa let out a quick gasp. "How -- horrible --" 

Beth felt sick at the sight of the thick, scabbing cuts. She had seen those wounds before: on Richard's arm, as he sacrificed his health to learn what was hidden in the forbidden third-floor corridor. That had been three years ago, but she still shuddered when she thought of how pale and hollow-eyed he had been during that week. 

There were footsteps, and Beth hastily readjusted Evan's sleeve. If anybody else found the wounds, it was up to Evan to explain them. 

It was none too soon. Madame Pomfrey bustled up, tutting to herself. She laid a cold compress on Evan's forehead, popped open the cork of an ancient glass beaker, and wafted it under Evan's nose a few times. 

The boy's dark eyes blazed open. Instantly, he tried to sit up. Madame Pomfrey shot out a hand and shoved him back down. 

"Oh no you don't," she said, shaking up a lime green concoction while pinning Evan to the cot. "It's bed rest for you, my boy." She forced the potion down Evan's throat even as the boy struggled against her iron grip. "Thank you kindly for bringing him in. Now do me a favor, dears, and go tell this boy's prefect before you head back to class." 

Melissa cast Beth a glance. "Of course." 

***

Richard didn't take the news well. 

"He's not _strong_ enough!" Richard said, worry making him sound angrier than he really was. "There's a reason we only ask the biggest members to give blood for the Baron. He could be seriously hurt -- and now Madame Pomfrey is going to wonder what happened --" 

"Madame Pomfrey knows how to hold her tongue," said Beth. 

"Just -- what made him think he could handle it?" Richard demanded. He fell back onto an armchair and ran both hands through his hair. "How many cuts were there? Did you count them?" 

"No ... about six," Beth guessed. 

"Lord -- _six!_" cried Richard, going apoplectic all over again. "He can't have any blood _left!_" He ran both hands through his hair. "How long has this been going on? How could I have missed it?" 

"That's not what I'm wondering about," said Melissa thoughtfully. 

Richard turned to look at her. 

"If he's been going to the Bloody Baron for information," she said slowly, "what could he possibly want to know?" 

***

Diggory's assistance was very subtle. 

In Apparator's Ed., Mervin slipped Cedric a piece of parchment containing a potent Impediment Curse. Cedric put the note in his backpack and didn't open it. 

The next day, Beth passed him a book in Alchemy. He flipped through it before he put it away. He didn't meet her eyes. 

Mervin gave him another book in the library the next day. This time Cedric glanced up and said, "Thank you," as he was accepting the book of countercurses. 

By Thursday, the Slytherins were feeding Cedric a regular diet of hexes, jinxes and spells. It was frightening how many curses Mervin had access too. Cedric was accepting them now -- warily, being once-burned, but willingly. The results were very encouraging. Beth and Melissa went off to the meeting on Thursday pleased with their success. They were doing everything in their power to give Diggory the tools he needed -- everything else was up to him. 

They reached the Chamber of Secrets early and opened the lock with Melissa's ring. They ducked through the door and went inside, lighting the sconces along the walls as they went. 

Melissa drew up short at the skeleton of the basilisk and looked around. "Does something seem ... different, to you?" 

"Not really," said Beth slowly, but she gazed around at the Chamber. There was the basilisk skeleton, the statue of Salazar, the Petrified form of Ulysses Donner ... "Ulysses is turned the wrong way," said Beth, instantly relaxing. "Somebody must have flipped him around to give him a different view." 

"That's ridiculous," said Melissa scornfully, "he's dead." She went over and examined the statue closely. "Oh well," she finally shrugged. "Maybe it was the fourth-years, they're weird like that ..." She turned back to Beth -- and let out a gasp. 

"That's it," she said, pointing a shaking finger toward the collection of Salazar's old Potions equipment. 

Beth turned around and followed her finger. The large stone cauldron, four feet high and five feet wide, had vanished completely. 

***

Richard was no less than frantic. 

"How could they have gotten in?" he practically howled, pacing around the Chamber, returning time and time again to the empty spot where the cauldron had once stood. "It had to be one of us! How could it be one of us?" He stopped in front of Beth and Melissa. "Did either of you take it?" he asked earnestly. 

Melissa let out a tired sigh. "For the fourth time, Rich, we're the ones who reported it." 

Richard wrung his hands. "I know ... I just keep hoping ..." He resumed pacing. 

"You're not going to find it by wearing a rut in the floor," said Beth crossly. 

"I know, I know," said Richard, not stopping as he strode past. He grabbed his hair with both fists. "You have to have a Society ring to get in!" he exploded, on the way back. "It _has_ to be --" 

The door slid open and Mervin stepped inside. Richard pounced. 

_"Did you do it?"_

Mervin let out a shriek just before he was tackled to the ground. 

It took a long time to get Richard off of Mervin, and even then it took half a dozen Calming Charms to keep him from trying it again. By then most of the members had come in and been questioned, accused, and exonerated, not necessarily in that order. Beth was inwardly delighted that Richard did not refrain from casting suspicion on Gypsy as well. He had badgered Blaise almost to the point of tears when the door opened and Evan Wilkes entered. He looked as hollow-eyed and disturbed as he had earlier that day. "Where were you last night?" Richard asked immediately. 

"Nowhere," said Evan. His black hair hung in a pair of haunted eyes. This wasn't the cool, cocky boy who played chess and gloated when he inevitably won. Beth felt an uneasiness stir within her. Had she been so quick to eliminate him as a suspect? 

"I mean it, Evan, where were you?" Richard repeated, and Beth could tell that his thinking was along the same lines as hers. Evan Wilkes, the son of a Death Eater ... the cynic, the dark humorist ... always the one with a sardonic comment or morose observation ... 

"I said, nowhere." His voice was brittle. 

Richard started towards the dark-haired boy. "Out with it," he warned. 

Evan snapped. "_I was trying to kill Moody!_" he practically screamed. "Three in the morning, disabled all his equipment, I was in his bedroom with a knife, all ready to cut his disgusting heart right out of his chest, when I looked down and _it wasn't him in the bed!_ I'd got the wrong room -- almost killed somebody I didn't even recognize --" He broke off and stood there glaring at Richard, chest heaving with a ferocity in his eyes that Beth had never seen. "That's where I was. I didn't steal your precious cauldron." 

He turned on his heels and darted out of the Chamber. 

A heavy silence fell on the members. Then Gypsy Arendt leaned over and touched Richard on the elbow. 

"How did he know the cauldron was stolen?" she said softly. 

Richard stared at her. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then he managed a strangled, "Do you think --?" but couldn't complete the thought. He looked over at Beth helplessly. "Beth -- you've got to go talk to him." 

She looked back, half alarmed. "Why me?" 

"Because he doesn't like me." Richard ran both hands through his hair. "You two've been getting along lately ... helping Diggory and all ... and I never see him hang out with anyone, he doesn't even really like Herne ..." He sighed heavily. "Please, just do it, okay?" 

Beth bit her lip. She wouldn't agree if it had been anyone else asking. "All right. What should I say?" 

"Find out how he knew about the cauldron. Make sure he's all right." Richard hesitated. "See if you can find out about that whole attempted murder thing too, will you?" 

"Gloria serpens," Beth sighed. 

***

Evan was not sulking in a corner of the common room, or glowering at his books in the library, or even, Herne reported, sprawled morosely on his four-poster bed. Beth checked a couple of empty classrooms and the dungeons before she found him in the Vase Room, flipping through a textbook like a bored death-row inmate. 

He didn't look up as she came to sit beside him. "Spying for Richard?" he said coolly, tossing the textbook to one side. 

He really was aggravating, Beth thought. The only way to talk to him was to use the same language. "Yes. Hiding from him?" 

Evan favored her with a half-smile, though he didn't meet her eyes. Beth took it as a good sign and plunged in. 

"Did you really try to kill Moody?" 

Evan nodded. "Yup." 

"Why?" 

For a moment Beth thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he snorted and leaned back into the chair, hands behind his head. 

"Isn't it obvious? Tale as old as time: he killed my father. I remember coming home from primary school and complaining that I was the only kid without a father. You can thank Alastor Moody for that, Mother always said. Then I come back to school this year, and _there he is._ The man who ruined my life." 

There was silence. Beth didn't know what to say -- she felt like she should console him for failing to take revenge, although personally she was relieved that he _hadn't_ succeeded. Finally, she said carefully, "I thought Moody's room would be harder to get into ... constant vigilance, and all that." 

Evan turned to look at her with his startlingly dark eyes. "Oh, I paid for it." He flicked a glance to his hands -- no -- his _arm_ -- and Beth knew. 

"The _Baron?_" 

Evan looked away. "Very clever." 

"But he double-crossed you," Beth reasoned slowly. "You said it was the wrong room. I didn't think the Baron ever lied --" 

"Neither," said Evan sourly, "did I." He stood up to leave. "Just goes to show you shouldn't trust somebody that's already dead. They have nothing to lose." 

Beth stood up too. "Wait -- just one thing." She hesitated. "The cauldron. How did you know it was stolen?" 

The corner of Evan's mouth quirked. "That's where I went, afterward. It was missing when I got there." 

He turned and left without another word. 

Beth watched him go. Behind his sarcasm, behind his casual despondency, there was honesty. Evan Wilkes had been telling the truth ... Beth wondered if a lie could have been more chilling. 

***

Before Beth even realized it, the last weeks of school were upon them. 

Finals would take place in the week before the Third Task, but Beth couldn't care less about those. Foremost in her mind was the thing that had been somewhere in the back of it all year: The final Alchemy project, due the Monday of finals week. 

While the other students crammed facts into their heads, and the Society crammed curses and countercurses into Cedric's, Snape's Alchemy III students went on the academic warpath -- raiding the library for sources, spending hours in the dungeons, begging ingredients from Snape, Sprout and even Filch, who was driven to a tantrum at the sudden presence of brewing potions in every available classroom. Even the very tricky work they were doing in App. Ed -- just Apparating from one end of the classroom to the other -- was nothing compared to what they had to accomplish for Snape and Vector. 

One week until the potion was due. 

"Professor Snape, I need to use the dungeons this evening -- to work on my project." 

"Oh, very well, Stebbins. Do any of the rest of you procrastinators find yourselves hoist on that same petard? ... I thought as much. The dungeons will be available from six until eleven o'clock tonight. Do remember to bring all of your equipment. I doubt that I own enough alembics to go around." 

Six days. 

"Want to play cards, Beth?" 

"_Are you out of your mind, Bruce?!?_ I've got to write my whole Alchemy paper and the potion isn't even done, I can't figure out what to put in to offset the dimness the nettles give me and even if I did know, I have to calculate how much of it I need and when to put it in and how long I should let it boil _if at all_ --" 

"Good lord, Beth. Sorry for asking." 

Four days. 

"Excuse me? ... Miss Parson?" 

"Who are you?" 

"Sarah Fawcett. Look, you don't know me, but I'm in your Alchemy class, and if you let me see your notes from October I'll give you my firstborn child." 

"All right, but it had better be a boy. I need his blood to finish my project." 

Three days. 

"Mervin? Are you the firstborn in your family?" 

Two days. 

"Beth?" 

"Hmmf -- huh? Wha --?" 

"Wake up, it's morning. I can't believe you fell asleep sitting up again." 

"Morning ...? Oh _Mel,_ I was supposed to finish my report last night! What on earth am I going to do--?" 

"Hush. Look here, it's over half finished. And you have two more days. Now come get some breakfast. You need to eat ..." 

"No I don't, I need to pass this class. Where's my abacus?" 

So it came down, as it always does, to the night before the project was due. 

Beth spent the afternoon brewing her final potion in the dungeons. Then she moved to an empty classroom. When Argus Filch, muttering threats, kicked her out of there, she moved the operation to the common room and had to chase away the firsties from the fireplace so she could keep the cauldron boiling. 

The brew had to be simmered for several hours yet. Beth spent the time finishing up her paper. She was delighted to find that when she wrote out every little thing she'd learned about the eye, light, vision, potions and alchemy, it was enough to fill the length requirement. She wrote the last sentence and wound it up into a scroll without another glance. If she tried to edit it, she'd be up all night. 

The potion shimmered softly, shifting from teal to lime green under a lovely silver sheen. Beth sat and watched it for a few minutes, yawning in satisfaction. It was going to turn out all right. She just needed to add the last few ingredients. 

"Horsehair," she enumerated to herself, "cats' eyes, fennel, and the sucker of an octopus." She shuffled through her bottles of ingredients. "The sucker of an octopus ..." 

It wasn't there. 

For a moment Beth just sat there, stunned at her own stupidity. She'd known she needed it -- well, she'd known a month ago, anyway -- how could she have failed to procure such an important ingredient? There wasn't a single octopus sucker in the school. She remembered now -- she'd gone to the storage cupboards and found none, and decided to ask Professor Snape to order her one. Well, she hadn't done it, and now, at the very last moment, she was up a creek. 

She picked up her Alchemy book with trembling hands, still not accepting how horrible the situation was. She flipped to the back of the book. There were pages and pages of charts, showing conversion factors for substitution ingredients. _There_ -- octopus suckers -- she could get away with a double quantity of dried leaves from a Venomous Tentacular. Snape had those. She'd used them in class. She was saved! 

Beth looked up at the clock and swore. A quarter to midnight -- Snape had closed up the dungeons an hour ago, he'd either flunk or kill anyone who disturbed him at this time of night. She thought about trying to break into his private store and immediately decided against it. The shops in Hogsmeade were closed ... she could sneak out, get to London by Floo and track down some all-hours potions shop, but then she wouldn't get home until at least two in the morning, and she needed absolutely every moment to finish and test the potion. Diagon Alley was out of the question. 

All right, then. She'd have to get her ingredients fresh. 

Beth put on her cloak and got ready for a breath of night air. 

***

The summer winds were warm; the lush grass was wet beneath her feet. Beth crept out of the broom shed and silently crossed the Hogwarts grounds, leaving shimmering footsteps behind her in the dew. She pulled her cloak tighter around her -- glanced about nervously -- and darted into Greenhouse One. 

The Venomous Tentacular stood along one wall, snaky purple leaves upheld majestically in the moonlight. Beth pulled on a pair of discarded dragon-hide gloves, found a trowel hanging on the wall, picked up an empty flowerpot from underneath the work bench, and approached the plant like a gladiator ready to kill a lion. 

The plant shook as it sensed her nearness and let out a little whine. "Hush," Beth hissed, setting down her supplies. "I'm not after you." 

A tiny offshoot had sprung up in the pot beside the larger Tentacular -- a child plant, born of the same root structure, ready to be disconnected and transplanted. Beating off the thick, whippy vines from both the tall and small plants, Beth got to work brushing the dirt from the baby roots. 

She had worked for a few minutes when she became suddenly, keenly aware of a nearby presence. She turned around slowly. A large, black shape filled the doorway. 

There was a moment's pause. 

"Hi, Stebbins." 

"Hi, Parson. Is the Moon Lily still blooming?" 

Beth gestured to a plant in the corner with vast cup-like petals. "Help yourself." 

Stebbins started forward; then he paused and eyed Beth suspiciously. "Say ... you won't tell Snape where I got my ingredients?" 

"Not if you don't tell Sprout what I did to her Venomous Tentacular," said Beth, not looking up from her work. 

"Fair enough," said Stebbins. He went to the lily, snipped off three broad flowers, and left. 

Beth finished detaching the sprout from its parent. Carefully, she lifted it out and replanted it in the smaller clay pot. The parent Tentacular crooned sadly. 

"I need this more than you do," Beth told it. The late hour was starting to wear on her -- not to mention the string of sleepless nights. She picked up the pot and slipped outside. She crept along the side of the greenhouse, heading for the broom shed. She stopped dead. 

Someone was approaching. 

She cast about wildly and finally dropped to her stomach behind a shrub. She set aside the Venomous Tentacular. Peering through the stripped branches at the base of the bush, she could make out a bare outline of the intruders. There were two of them, side by side, walking slowly but with youthful surety -- students. One of them spoke. 

"You have to listen to me." 

It was Richard. 

"Of course I am, darling." This was Gypsy. Beth's heart gave a funny lurch. The Venomous Tentacular was tugging feebly on her hair, not wanting to be neglected, but she kept her eyes focused on the pair of seventh-years. 

The moon came out and bathed the grounds in pale light. Seeing Gypsy's face more clearly only made Beth inexplicably angry. She wore a look of perfect contentment ... no, more than that ... self-satisfaction. _She shouldn't be wandering around the grounds this late,_ Beth thought obstinately, perfectly aware of her own hypocrisy. 

They stopped near the greenhouses and turned to face each other. Richard spoke then. 

"Gypsy ... I need to tell you how I feel about you ..." 

"I know," said Gypsy softly. Their figures were a pair of soft silhouettes in the moonlight. She leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. 

Beth felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and a burning flush race across her cheeks. Hot rage welled behind her eyes and came out in unexpected tears. She knew, she'd known all along, but she didn't want to _see_ it -- 

She snatched up the Venomous Tentacular, pot and all, and darted silently across the grounds. 

***

By morning Beth had a working night-vision potion, a fifty-foot-long written report, a terrible headache, and a curious hollowness in the middle of her chest. She took her History of Magic test in the morning without thinking too much about it and napped through lunch. In the afternoon she turned in her Alchemy project along with the rest of her exhausted-looking class and then went off to do her Apparator's Education test (written -- they'd have to schedule tests with the Ministry for themselves sometime over the summer). She had dinner with Melissa and Bruce -- ignoring Richard entirely -- and had time to study for a few other final exams before she fell into bed early that evening. 

The rest of finals week passed quickly. Beth scraped through her tests, thanks largely to Melissa's flash cards and her own newly-acquired cramming skills. The usual tension of final exams was alleviated by a school-wide sense of growing anticipation over the upcoming Third Task. By Friday, the excitement was at fever pitch. The final task! The one which would decide the winner! Some of the more enterprising Slytherins began taking bets from the other students. The fourth-years sneaked off for a last-minute interview with Rita Skeeter, who had taken to buzzing around the Great Hall looking for gossip. 

Beth's last exam (Charms, which actually went well) was over on Friday morning. She spent most of the afternoon in her bedroom. She had been intentionally avoiding Richard all week, even when he looked like he was purposefully trying to talk to her, and her bedroom was the only place she could be sure of not running into him. A little before dinner, she came down to the common room. 

With final exams nearly completed, the atmosphere had grown more relaxed. Students played cards or Gobstones or napped around the fire. Her eye was drawn to a table in the corner. Mervin sat there, surrounded by books, flipping through one after the other. Figuring that he was still on the Society's business, Beth went up to him. 

"How are things coming with Cedric?" 

Mervin shrugged. "I've given him every book of curses I've got." 

Beth leaned over to look at the book under Mervin's arm, but the title was obscured. "So what are you working on?" she asked. "If you haven't noticed, final exams are over." 

Mervin was quiet for a minute. Then he looked up at Beth. "Have you ever heard of Claudius Diggory?" 

"Other than hearing Cedric talk about him?" Beth shook her head. "No." 

"Well, neither have I." Mervin tapped the cover of the book. "Neither has Madame Pince. And neither," he added, picking up the book, "has the author of _Notable Magical Names of Our Time._" 

Beth was not entirely sure what Mervin was trying to get at. "So?" 

"The writer of _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ doesn't mention him," Mervin went on. "He's not in _Who's Who in the Magical Community,_ or _Famous Wizards You Should Know,_ or _Britain's Richest Wizards (And Why Not to Hate Them),_ and he's not even on a chocolate frog card." 

"My next door neighbor is," Beth said, thinking of Mr. Scamander. 

"But not Claudius Diggory," said Mervin triumphantly. 

"So?" Beth said again. 

"Don't you see? Cedric's uncle took the potion but he never got rich or famous from it. If you don't take the rewards ..." 

"... you don't have to make the payments," Beth finished. "Of course. Mervin, I think you're right -- but Diggory is getting the rewards, he's one step away from Head Boy -- he can't even _get_ much farther along in Hogwarts." 

"Exactly," said Mervin grimly. 

Beth saw his point. The potion had done its work and would eventually require its due. She took a deep breath. 

"I think we need to tell Cedric what we found out," she said. "He thinks the potion doesn't work, or something. And," she said, glancing up at the clock, "seeing as the task is _tomorrow,_ we have to go do it now." 

Mervin frowned. "Shouldn't we tell Richard --" 

"No," said Beth shortly. "Come on." 

They found Cedric in the library. He and Cho Chang were poring over curse texts from the Restricted Section and speaking in suspiciously calm terms about their difficulty and effectiveness. Cho didn't look like she liked the idea of Cedric going off to chat with a couple of Slytherins, but Cedric told her it was fine and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before he followed Beth and Mervin out of the library. 

They led him into an empty classroom and shut the door. Beth considered starting off with small talk, asking how the preparation was coming, something like that ... but once again she was struck with the urgency of their message. She decided it was best to come straight to the point. 

"Listen," said Beth, "Mervin and I have been thinking over that Transcongus Brew." Cedric rolled his eyes but kept listening. "We think the brew works inversely ... more glory, shorter life. It sounds like the less glory you get, the longer you live. Like your uncle, you know?" 

Cedric eyed her uncertainly. "Where are you going with this?" 

Beth took a deep breath. "If you get to the trophy first -- just supposing -- it might not be a good idea to take it. I mean -- winning the Triwizard Tournament is one of the biggest things you can accomplish." 

"You want me to lose on purpose." 

"Well ..." Beth cast a glance at Mervin. "Yes. We think it might be safer." 

Cedric's mouth thinned. "I intend to do my best." 

"I'm not kidding, Cedric. Just think it over, will you? It could be dangerous ..." 

Something was changing behind Cedric's eyes. "The _whole thing_ is dangerous. I want it to be worthwhile." 

Beth glanced at Mervin, who was watching Cedric warily. A dangerous timbre was rising in Cedric's tone -- she didn't know what to make of it. She tried once again. "But it's just a trophy ..." 

"It is not just a trophy!" Cedric roared. "It's everything I've ever wanted!" 

The room fell silent. Beth had never seen the mild-mannered Hufflepuff so angry. Or perhaps is wasn't quite anger ...? Cedric, pacing from one end to the other, ran his fingers through his hair before turning back to them. 

"This tournament -- it's my chance! To prove that I'm not like -- like Lockhart, with a few lucky genes from my good-looking parents -- to prove I'm worth something! And Hufflepuff -- we've never, _never_ had it this good! It's always people like Harry -- like _you_ people -- the brave ones, the ambitious ones, they get the glory, while we just slave away in the background -- and we're supposed to be happy about it!" He broke off. "Well, I had to be brave _and_ ambitious to take that potion -- and I worked hard at it, too! And it's worked. We are finally getting recognized. _I_ am finally getting _noticed!_" 

He made towards the door. Before he got there, he turned and pointed a finger at the Slytherins. 

"If I get there first," he said, voice shaking, "I am taking the trophy. Because I deserve it. And if I was worried about the consequences, I wouldn't have drank that potion _or_ entered this tournament in the first place." 

The door slammed shut, and the classroom was left in silence. 


	20. The Third Task

**Chapter Twenty: The Third Task**

"It's too wonderful!" cried Pansy Parkinson. 

"A good job all around," declared Draco Malfoy, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I'll clip it for my scrapbook." 

"I wonder if he knows yet?" said Blaise Zabini. 

"Give me back my newspaper," said Beth dryly. 

The fourth-years handed over Beth's copy of the Daily Prophet. It was still folded to the article of interest: HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS" by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. 

"On the day of the third task!" Pansy gushed. "Draco, you're brilliant." 

Draco nodded smugly. "Quite." He glanced across the Great Hall and noticed the three Gryffindors looking at him. "Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?" He grabbed back Beth's copy of the Prophet and shook it a little, in case Potter didn't realize yet what he was talking about. Everyone turned to watch Potter's reaction. 

It was disappointing. Potter borrowed a newspaper from the redhead across the table and quickly read the article. He cast the Slytherin table a careless glance and carried on talking with his friends. 

Professor Karkaroff swept up to the end of the table. "Your family is waiting for you in the side chamber, Viktor," he announced heartily. "No doubt they'll be cheering the hardest at your victory, eh?" 

Viktor grunted in acknowledgement. He got up without looking at his headmaster and slouched out of the Great Hall. 

Karkaroff turned back to the other Durmstrangers. "Back to the ship, all of you," he barked, sounding considerably less friendly than he had a moment ago. "Professor Viridian will be administering your final Zagovry exam via fireplace. Do not keep him waiting." 

"Ve bow to your vishes," said Josef, bounding up from the table. His silverware clattered onto his plate. "Up, all of you! I vant to see tvo straight lines! Tuck in that chin, Dolohov! Now forward --!" 

And he marched his classmates out of the Great Hall under his astonished Headmaster's nose. 

The sixth-years were finished with finals, but most of the rest of the school wasn't, so the seven of them had the day off alone. It was a surprisingly nice day. Beth had been spending so much time with the Durmstrangers, the Society, her Alchemy classmates and Cedric that she hadn't been keeping up with her classmates. They strolled around the sunlit grounds in the afternoon -- Warrington and Antigone hand in hand, Aaron and Mervin a few steps behind making fun of them. They talked about the classes they'd gone through and adventures they'd had, mishaps and mischief, fights, tantrums, professors, assignments, meals, reports and games and conversations. Once more, Beth was struck by the passage of time. _One more year,_ she thought to herself. Then Aaron began recounting the story of Warrington's splinching, well-elaborated for comedic effect, and she ignored the melancholy in favor of laughing with her friends. 

In the evening they all wandered back to the Great Hall for the evening feast. The Head Table was full again, with Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge alongside the Headmasters. Viktor Krum looked much happier than usual after spending the day with his family. He had to be reminded by his classmates to start speaking in English again. 

Finally, when the food had been consumed and the enchanted ceiling showed the fall of dusk, Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes time I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament," he said. "Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now." 

The Great Hall was filled with applause. Viktor got up amid wishes of good luck from his classmates, enduring seven or eight handshakes from Josef before he managed to leave the hall with Ludo Bagman, Cedric, Fleur and Potter. 

Five tense minutes later, the students were dismissed to the Quidditch pitch. The chattering mob crossed the grounds, a vast pack of excited students, flanked by professors to make sure they all got to their destination. They reached the Quidditch field. 

Bruce staggered. "The pitch --" he managed. 

The Quidditch pitch was covered in twenty-foot high hedges forming a strange organic maze. Aaron and Mervin picked him up and practically carried him to the stands. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Ludo Bagman's voice boomed over the stands. "The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each -- Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" Wild applause. "In second place, with eighty points -- Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" The Slytherins clapped loudly. "And in third place -- Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" The cheering took on a distinctly masculine timbre. 

The four champions were clustered around the opening of the maze, Mr. Bagman nearby. "So ... on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!" he said enthusiastically. "Three ... two ... one ..." 

The sound of the whistle cut through the night and was drowned out by another round of cheering. 

Potter and Cedric disappeared into the maze. Immediately, two beams of light sprung up at the maze entrance -- one with a yellow tint, the other silver. They traveled together like weird cylindrical ghosts for about fifty yards; then they parted ways and moved off in opposite directions. 

"Yellow for Cedric again," Melissa figured. "Potter's silver -- Viktor'll be red, Fleur'll be blue." 

She was proven right a few minutes later when the next two champions entered the maze. 

When all of the contestants were inside, a fifth beam of light sprung up right in the center of the maze, this one a deep ethereal violet. "The violet light marks the end of the maze," Mr. Bagman announced joyfully, "and the Triwizard Cup! The first champion to reach the center will be declared our winner!" 

The audience quieted down and began to watch the progress of the champions. Sometimes a beam of light would stop and turn around, apparently thwarted; sometimes it would stand in one place for a long time while the champion encountered some obstacle. No one was sure whether the champions could hear them, but the cheering and encouragement of the audience was nearly continuous. Night began to fall more deeply; the beams of light showed up brightly. It was a clear night, sprinkled with stars. Some of the audience began to get up out of the stands and walk around. 

"Beth." 

She looked up. Richard stood there, looking a little hopeful and a little haggard. She frowned and looked away. She had nothing to say to him. 

"Beth, can I see you for a minute?" 

Bruce nudged her from one side, Melissa from the other. Reluctantly, Beth got up and followed him out of the stands and across the cool grass. She would not look at him. 

Finally he stopped and turned back to her. 

"I want to talk to you, Beth." 

"About what?" Very coldly. 

"Gypsy." 

Beth tensed at the sound of the name. Her cheeks flushed hot. 

"Don't bother." Beth was astonished by the poison in her own voice but couldn't stop it. "I saw you two out by the greenhouses." 

Richard's face cleared. "Oh, so then you know --" 

"Of course I know," she spat, "and I can't believe it took me so long to realize it -- and -- I don't care, you can go on snogging her 'til kingdom come for all I care --" 

Richard looked startled, then flushed a deep red. "Then didn't you hear --" 

"I heard enough." Beth, fuming, found she couldn't hold his gaze. She looked away. 

"Apparently not." Richard's voice was edged now. "_Apparently,_ you didn't hear the part where I told Gypsy I didn't want to be any more than friends with her." 

It was a moment before Beth realized what she'd just heard. 

"She was all over you," she said, hating the way she sounded, so petty, so accusing. 

"And I told her to stop it." Richard sounded distinctly angry. "I don't suppose you're interested in why I did." 

This time Beth forced herself to take a breath before speaking. "I am," she said, trying to control her tone. She still couldn't look at his face. 

"Because of you." 

Beth was startled into meeting Richard's gaze. She had never seen the look in his eyes before. He was angry, frustrated, but ... there was something new ... 

"You," Richard repeated. "I'd learn something about the Society and want to tell you about it. I'd see something interesting and want to show you. I'd come up with some theory about the Ledger and wonder what you'd think of it. Gypsy is pretty -- she's persuasive, and intelligent -- it took me all year to realize that it wasn't her I wanted to be around all the time. It was you." 

Beth felt a hot flush rush across her face. She looked down at the ground. 

"But," Richard's voice was now bordering on fury, "apparently you don't care. I could go on snogging Gypsy 'til kingdom come ..." 

"I didn't mean that," Beth whispered. For the second time that week, she was ashamed to feel hot tears roll down her cheeks. She swiped at them furiously. There was no way she could look at Richard now. 

Richard was quiet for a moment. "Then what did you mean?" he persisted, but more gently; the edge was gone from his voice. 

"I meant --" Beth sniffed back tears, looked away, wiped her face. "Oh -- I don't know --" She took an unsteady breath. "I meant -- that I wish you looked at me like that sometimes, the way you look at her." 

Silence. 

"I've -- I've always wished that." 

Richard leaned around her until she was forced to catch his eye. "How's this?" he said softly. 

She looked into his eyes. The tears wouldn't come while she was holding his gaze. Behind his eyes she saw everything she'd ever liked about him, and everything that had driven her crazy. She wiped her eyes without paying attention. In his eyes were a little acceptance and a little longing, but above all confidence ... he knew exactly what he was looking at, and he liked it. 

"Perfect," she said, and to her own surprise, she smiled. 

Richard smiled too -- his familiar, proud, cocky, relieved grin. Beth started to laugh. Richard paused for a startled moment; then he too broke into laughter. That was something Beth had rarely heard. It only made her laugh harder. Soon they were leaning on each other's shoulders, practically howling with mirth for no good reason -- or perhaps the best reason of all, for they realized just then all the folly of the human race, and saw it in themselves. 

Finally they drew apart, red-faced, profoundly relieved, both smiling from ear to ear. "Want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" said Richard, taking her hand. 

"Okay," said Beth. She gave his fingers a squeeze. "We could go looking for the Ledger." 

Richard shrugged. "I think maybe this time I'd rather just dance." 

They strolled back to the stands, hand in hand. The audience was applauding wildly -- both Cedric and Potter were at the center of the maze. Neither beam of light was moving -- they stood fixed like spotlights. The professors roaming around the edge of the hedges were looking a little suspicious. Beth and Richard stopped and sat down on the ground beside the stands. The view was good enough from here, and the grass was cool. 

As they watched, Professor McGonagall emerged from the maze. She was supporting someone -- Viktor Krum. There was a gasp from the audience. The Durmstrang students began to stand up and try to fight their way down to him. Beth cast a glance at Professor Karkaroff, at the head table. His lip was curled, his eyes narrow. He did not move. 

A sharp pain shot through Beth's arm. 

She jerked in surprise. Richard looked over at her. "What's wrong?" 

"I think I just got stung by a bee," said Beth, with a short surprised laugh. "Ow ..." 

She started to lift her sleeve to look at the sting, then stopped and instead rubbed it through the cloth. She didn't want Richard to see her ugly burn. 

Viktor Krum was swarmed by his classmates now. Madame Pomfrey had joined the mix. He looked disturbed but unharmed. Beth looked back at the maze -- Potter and Cedric hadn't moved for several minutes now. It was as if the lights were fixed. 

"Miss Parson, I must speak with you." 

Beth looked up and squinted into the darkness. The unmistakable outline of Jules Rothbard, Society president, loomed over them, his white walrus moustache and bald head glinting slightly in the moonlight. 

Richard scrambled to his feet, bringing Beth with him. "Mr. Rothbard --" he began, extending a hand. 

"Just Miss Parson this time, Shaw," Mr. Rothbard said, in a slightly stiff manner. Beth noticed a silhouette behind him -- Evan Wilkes, his face nearly obscured. 

Richard dropped his hand awkwardly. "All right," he said, visibly surprised. "I say, bring her back soon." 

"Yes, of course. Please, come with me," Rothbard said to Beth, and she followed him and Evan across the grounds. Several hundred yards from the Quidditch pitch, Jules Rothbard turned to them. He took a deep breath. 

"You are both feeling a pain in your arm," he said gently, bluntly. "I know why." 

Evan met his eyes with a sharp gaze. Beth was baffled. "I got a bee sting --" she said, rolling up her sleeve to prove it. 

She did not see the round raised mark of a sting. She saw a flat mark, burning red, in the shape of a skull. 

Evan didn't bother to look at his arm. Apparently he knew what lay there. "The Dark Mark," he said, almost accusingly. 

Jules Rothbard sighed. "Yes." 

Beth stared down at the red skull on her arm. Didn't it mean -- how had she never seen it before -- when had it happened? "But -- when --?" 

"I don't remember getting this," said Evan shortly. 

"You wouldn't -- you were much too young," said Rothbard heavily. "Your father brought you -- your mother," he added, looking at Beth. "You've been dedicated to the Dark Lord since before you could walk." 

Beth had heard those words before. Evan, too, remembered. He met Rothbard's eyes and said, "Moody. Moody knew." 

The President looked startled. "Mad-Eye Moody? How would he ..." He broke off, calculating quickly. "Of course -- he would be able to see the mark beneath your sleeves. Or," he added, looking at Beth, "beneath your bandages. Not a bad cover, but a little suspicious." 

"They're real bandages," Beth told him irritably. "I had poison ivy for the first half of the year, and a huge burn for the whole second half." 

Rothbard's brow furrowed. "Curious ..." 

There seemed to be something going on back at the Quidditch pitch, but Beth couldn't guess what, and she was still reeling from what Rothbard said. She thought about her injuries. Her burn had been an accident, pure accident -- reaching across a lit birthday cake towards her brother -- maybe she'd swung her arm a little too low -- he had taken her hand -- maybe her arm had been _forced_ into the flame --? 

And the Weasley twins had put poison ivy in her robes. But they claimed they hadn't -- who else had access? It could've been done on the train ... or at home? 

She didn't say a word. 

"Am I right," said Rothbard gently, "in guessing that your brother was involved in those accidents?" 

"Yes," said Beth quietly. 

"They were an adequate cover," said Jules Rothbard. "You were unsuspected by the one person who would have known -- Igor Karkaroff." 

"My brother told me to stay away from Karkaroff," Beth said slowly, her mind reeling. 

Rothbard nodded sympathetically. "Igor Karkaroff would have been there when you two were marked," he said. "Had he known who you were, he might have remembered." 

"He remembered me," Evan said. 

"You do resemble your father," said Rothbard softly. 

Evan pretended not to react to that, but his lips thinned subtly nonetheless. 

It was then that Beth's arm began to hurt. 

It was a pain like she had never experienced -- quite deep, but very specific, like someone was grinding the lit end of a cigar into her forearm. At first she was too startled to realized just how much it hurt. She looked at Evan questioningly. A stiffness had come over his pale face; his dark eyes swam. He was clutching his arm. Then the full force of the pain sunk in, and Beth let out a cry. 

"Ah - ow!" Beth's fingers dug into her arm, as if she hoped to pull the pain away. "Mr. Rothbard - what -?" 

Evan's face was highly flushed. "It's the Mark," he said, cool voice trembling ever so slightly. 

"Yes," said Rothbard. His white moustache quivered. "It is the Mark." He laid a hand on Evan's shoulder (Evan flinched away) and looked at Beth. "Follow me." 

First calmly, then with longer and longer strides, Jules Rothbard led them away from the Quidditch pitch and across the Hogwarts grounds. By the time they reached the broad iron gates, both Beth and Evan were running to keep up with him. Evan's eyes were so dark they were almost black. 

"Outside," ordered Mr. Rothbard. He strode through the gate and waited for the students to follow him. "Now come here." He took hold of Evan with one hand and Beth with the other. 

"Mr. Rothbard," Beth panted, doubled over with pains from running and the pain in her arm, "why did we have to come out here?" 

"Because," said Jules Rothbard, "you cannot Apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. Ceteris paribus!" he cried, and the three of them vanished into a whirlwind of light. 


	21. The Midnight Meeting

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Midnight Meeting**

Beth fell to her hands and knees onto a patch of soggy earth. A wave of nausea broke over her head, almost indistinguishable from the astonishment already soaked through it. She opened her eyes. She was somewhere different ... what had happened? Rothbard ... the Society rings ... he must have transported them. But where were they? 

Evan let out a faint groan from nearby. She turned toward him, arm outstretched -- but Jules Rothbard seized her arm and pulled her upright. 

"Not a word," he said quietly, and his grandfatherly voice was alight with excitement. _"Creo persona!"_

Something soft seemed to fall over Beth's head; she raised her hands and felt the cloth of a mask over every inch of her face. Rothbard had conjured one for Evan too, although the boy was still on his hands and knees, woozy from the Apparation. 

"Up!" whispered Rothbard. 

He jerked Evan to his feet. Evan swayed but stood his ground. 

"Now," murmured Rothbard, "you see what it means to bear the Mark!" 

Beth took a good look around. They stood on the edge of a forest; a graveyard spread before them like a dead city, bleak and unkind under the new-risen moon. She suddenly realized that they were not alone. The puffs and whooshes of Apparating wizards filled the air -- like the three of them, all wore masks. Then one of them let out a cry. 

"Master ... Master ..." 

The hooded figure fell to his knees and crawled to the center of a clearing. Beth's eyes finished adjusting to the dusk (_Where was her Alchemy potion when she needed it?_ she thought) and suddenly she became aware of what was around her. 

Dozens of wizards, all in hoods. A vast gravestone, strangely shaped -- _something was tied to it_ -- an animal -- no, a man -- mewling in pain at the roots of a yew tree -- and at the center of it all, someone tall, someone fierce, someone to whom the hooded wizards were crawling, kissing his robes, circling around. Rothbard took Beth and Evan by their upper arms and yanked them into the ring of wizards. 

The moon came out. The creature tied to the tombstone was Harry Potter ... and Beth knew who the tall wizard in the center was. 

"Welcome, Death Eaters." 

His voice was quiet. The masked men fell into a hushed silence that was part reverence and part fear. The icy tone of that voice reached out fingers to squeeze at Beth's heart. She couldn't move. She couldn't understand. In the light of the moon she saw still another figure that she had not noticed before, this one prone in the grass, unmoving. It was Cedric Diggory. 

"Thirteen years ... thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday ... We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! _Or are we?_" 

He sniffed at the air. 

"I smell guilt," he said at last. "There is the stench of guilt upon the air." 

_This is not happening,_ thought Beth. Beside her, Rothbard gave a shiver. 

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact -- such prompt appearances!" the Dark Lord continued. "And I ask myself ... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?" 

Something brushed against the back of Beth's hand and she very nearly cried out -- but it was only Evan. He quietly took her hand and let his fingers lace among hers. The unexpected warmth of human touch jarred Beth from her shock. She began to shake. 

"And I answer myself," the Dark Lord whispered. His voice was the thin crackle of windblown leaves, broken only by the sobs of the man behind him. "They must have believed me broken. They thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence ... and ignorance ... and bewitchment ..." 

Beth squeezed Evan's hand a little tighter. 

"And then I ask myself ... but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?" 

Rothbard's mask twitched. 

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort ... perhaps they now pay allegiance to another ... perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles ... Albus Dumbledore?" 

Muted denials and inaudible murmurs swept the circle. Beth felt only despair at the name. Where was he now, the champion of commoners? More importantly, where had he been when she -- and Evan, and Potter, and (_not dead, just stunned, couldn't be dead_) Cedric had been dragged into this impossible nightmare? 

The Dark Lord shook his grotesque head. "It is a disappointment to me ... I confess myself disappointed ..." 

Without warning, a man at Beth's right threw himself at the Dark Lord's feet. "Master!" he cried, his face in the dirt, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!" 

For a moment the only sounds were the man's fevered breathing. Then the Dark Lord began to laugh. He raised his wand. 

_"Crucio."_

Beth winced backward involuntarily -- many of the Death Eaters did -- but the only man affected was he who had begged forgiveness ... he who now writhed on the ground, screaming not with guilt but torment, gripping his head with clawed hands ... 

The Dark Lord moved his wand away and the screaming broke off into gasps and panting. 

"Get up, Avery." 

The Dark Lord's voice was brushed with disdain. 

"Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years ... I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you." He gestured to the sobbing man beneath the tree. "Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail? You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?" 

The strange figure beneath the yew tree rocked back and forth, whimpering. 

"Yes, Master ... please, Master ... please ..." 

"Yet you helped return me to my body. Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me ... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers ..." 

Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at the whimpering man and for one swift cold second Beth felt sure that he was going to kill him and put him out of his misery. Instead, a fine silver thread drifted from the end of his wand and swirled around the man's arm before swooping down and attaching itself to the man's wrist -- a severed wrist, Beth realized with a sickening jolt. The silver swirl formed into a perfect hand, slick as quicksilver, and the man's strangled sobs trailed away. He stared at his new limb. Then he picked something from the ground and crushed it to powder between his shining fingers. 

"My Lord ..." he whispered, voice fringed with awe. "Master ... it is beautiful ... thank you ... _thank_ you ..." 

Abruptly he crawled forward and kissed the hem of his Master's robes. 

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail." 

"No, my Lord ... never, my Lord ..." 

The man called Wormtail stood up and slunk into the circle, unable to take his eyes from the glimmering new hand. 

The Dark Lord nodded satisfactorily and clasped his slender hands behind his back. He began to pace around the circle of Death Eaters, murmuring to some, stopping before others, ignoring many. Beth froze as he came slowly nearer. He paused before a gap in the circle and the word "Lestranges" drifted along the wind. The word "Azkaban" came with it ... 

And before Beth could have prepared herself, the Dark Lord stood before his Society president and the two young members. 

"The young ones," said Voldemort, his voice barely audible. "Offered by their parents. My new generation ... well done, Rothbard." 

"My Lord," said Rothbard breathlessly. 

The Dark Lord met each of their faces in turn. Beth shook behind her mask, unable to take her eyes away from his piercing gaze. She felt faint. Just when she thought she would lose her mind, Voldemort turned and began to pace around the circle again. She drew a ragged breath. It hadn't been so long ... only a moment. But it had been eternity. 

"Macnair ... destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me?" 

Rothbard fairly shivered with pleasure. "Our Dark Lord is pleased with you!" he whispered rapturously. "We will honor him -- we will return our Society to its true purpose --" 

Ebenezer Nott's voice came floating to their ears. 

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful --" 

"That will do," said Voldemort quietly. 

Evan tugged lightly on Beth's hand and leaned up to her ear. She glanced fearfully around the circle to be sure the Dark Lord's back was turned; then she leaned imperceptibly down to meet him. For the first time since this horrible thing had begun, Evan Wilkes spoke. 

_"We need to get out."_

Finally, Beth's mind began to clear. Evan was right. There was no telling what would go on tonight, but whatever it was, she didn't want to be a part of it -- and look what had happened to that Avery man. She forced herself to ignore Voldemort's low voice and the vows of loyalty from his followers. Potter was struggling with his bonds, but not getting very far. Behind him stood a vast, wide-mouthed cauldron which Beth suddenly, starkly recognized ... Salazar's missing cauldron had been found. Her gaze fell on a thick, tattered spellbook lying open and forgotten in the grass beside it. She was not even surprised when she recognized that too. 

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters ..." Voldemort's lazy voice was hypnotizing. "Three dead in my service." 

"Your father stood there," Rothbard murmured. Evan did not reply. 

"One, too cowardly to return ... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever ... he will be killed, of course ... and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service." 

Evan squeezed her hand again sharply. She glanced at him and met his dark eyes through the slits in his mask. Did he mean Riggs? Beth thought suddenly, and Evan's cold stare seemed to concur. 

"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight ..." 

Not Riggs, then. But did that mean that someone else -- another student -- a teacher? How, in fact, had Potter happened to be here at all? 

"Yes," said Lord Voldemort, content as a cat, "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor." 

It would have been funny, but for the reality. 

One of the Death Eaters dared take one step closer to his Lord. 

"Master, we crave to know ... we beg you to tell us ... how you have achieved this ... this miracle ... how you managed to return to us ..." 

"Ah," said the Dark Lord, sounding perversely pleased with himself, "what a story it is, Lucius." He strolled toward Harry Potter. "And it begins -- and ends -- with my young friend here." 

_"Listen."_

Evan's voice was barely audible. Beth leaned subtly towards him, trying to divide her attention. With one ear she listened to the amazing story of Lord Voldemort's return to corporeal power. The other was tuned to Evan's low, quick, clear voice. 

"Potter is tied to the Riddle tombstone. I remember it. The Society crypt is just over that rise. If we can get there, we can plan -- hide --" 

"Some of these people can follow us," Beth hissed. She cast an anxious glance at Jules Rothbard, but the man was apparently absorbed in his Dark Lord's every word. 

"We must leave while they're distracted," Evan hissed back. "We must watch for our chance." 

"But he's watching all the time. We'll never have a chance to leave," Beth whispered. 

"We will," murmured Evan, "while he's killing Potter." 

The cool statement stung through Beth's consciousness and startled her, but immediately the truth of it became clear. Lord Voldemort was going to kill Potter, and he was going to do it in front of the Death Eaters. It was obvious. When everyone else was distracted, the two of them would be able to slip into the woods unnoticed. 

"Yes," said Beth quietly. 

"...and a little help from my dear Nagini..." 

Both of them looked up at the sound of Gina's name. An extremely familiar-looking snake wound coolly around the circle of Death Eaters, eyes fixed on her new master. 

"A potion concocted of unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided ... I was soon returned to an almost human form ..." 

_He doesn't know Gina's nickname,_ Beth thought. The knowledge gave her a weird sort of pride -- she was better friends with Voldemort's pet snake than Voldemort himself. She had to muffle an uncalled-for giggle. 

"Can you turn invisible?" Evan asked quietly. 

"No. Can you?" 

"I wouldn't be asking if I could," hissed Evan. "Apparate?" 

"Yes -- I've never done it -- but I've had class --" 

Mervin's pet snake came sliding through the grass at their feet. Evan's eyes darted to her long, graceful form. 

"Gina!" he whispered. 

Gina lifted her head slightly. She veered off of her course and wound around his feet, forked tongue flicking experimentally at his shoes. She slid her head along Beth's ankle, like a weird caress -- and she continued on her endless circling path. 

_"Crucio!"_

Beth and Evan both flinched this time. For a fraction of a second Beth was convinced that Voldemort had heard them whispering and borne down on them like ... well, like McGonagall. But she wasn't on the receiving end of the curse, or in any case she wasn't the one screaming in agony. That turned out to be Potter. 

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Harry Potter hung limp from the gravestone, and behind him the bold name TOM RIDDLE gleamed in the moonlight. The ring of Death Eaters broke into laughter. Beth joined in hollowly a moment later. 

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," the Dark Lord said, cool and triumphant. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger." 

Beth's mind was already made up on that point. 

Voldemort looked at his feet and whispered gently, "Just a little longer, Nagini." 

Gina slithered away from her master and began to wind around the gathered Death Eaters again. 

"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand." 

The man with the silver hand stepped forward and slashed Potter's ropes with one swipe. Potter stumbled forward. Almost as if they had been cued, the Death Eaters began to step closer to their master, tightening the circle until it was continuous the whole way around. Beth felt Rothbard clamp down on her arm and drag her forward. A wave of despair hit her stomach. They'd never be able to escape if they were all crammed so close together. The silver-handed man left for a moment and came back with a wand, which he thrust at Potter like the plague. 

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" 

Beth glanced at Evan, but he was staring straight ahead. 

"We bow to each other, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed ..." Voldemort himself made a small, polite bow from the waist that was like the arc of a cobra. "Dumbledore would like you to show manners ... Bow to death, Harry ..." 

Potter remained upright. The Death Eaters around them laughed. Beth thought that it wasn't the sort of hollow, uncertain laugh that Crabbe and Goyle were wont to provide whenever Draco cracked a joke. This was genuine laughter. They actually found it all funny. 

"I said, _bow,_" said the Dark Lord, raising his wand, and immediately Potter bent forward in an unnatural imitation of a bow. "Very good." He lowered his wand and Potter sprang upright again, angry and scared. "And now you face me, like a man ... straight-backed and proud, the way your father died ... And now -- we duel. _Crucio._" 

Potter never saw it coming. His screams echoed through the graveyard and through the clear night sky. Beth was grateful for her mask -- it hid the fact that her eyes were tightly clenched shut. 

Then there was no sound but floods of cruel laughter. Certain that Potter was dead, Beth opened her eyes to see the boy stagger to his feet and stumble toward the ring of Death Eaters, only to be shoved backward again. He was shaking like a leaf. 

"A little break," said the Dark Lord, and Beth suddenly hated him almost as much as she feared him. "A little pause ... That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?" 

Potter did not speak. Beth had never seen anyone look so vicious and courageous. 

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes and raised his chin slightly. "I asked you whether you want me to do that again," he said, cool voice dangerously low. "Answer me! _Imperio!_" 

For just a moment there was deadly silence. Then Potter opened his mouth, as if against his will ... 

"I WON'T!" 

It was like the crack of a gun. The Death Eaters murmured and fell quiet. Lord Voldemort's stance changed subtly. 

"You won't?" His voice was the hiss of a basilisk. "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die ... Perhaps another little dose of pain?" 

Beth closed her eyes again. She heard the curse cried out and a sharp crack -- involuntarily she opened her eyes to see the Riddle tombstone cracked from stem to stern. 

Voldemort circled in front of the tombstone, like a cat with the mouse in its sights; Beth realized that Potter was behind it. "We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry. You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry ... come out and play, then ... it will be quick ..." 

One step closer. 

"It might even be painless ..." 

Closer still. 

"I would not know ..." 

Advancing slowly, wand outstretched ... 

"I have never died ..." 

Without warning, Potter leapt from behind the tombstone. He thrust his wand out and shouted _"Expelliarmus!"_ at the top of his lungs. 

The Dark Lord cried, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Red and green curselights crashed together in midair. Instantly, the expression on both wizards' faces changed to astonishment as gold swept along the bands of light, melding them into one brilliant, blazing strand. The wands shook in their hands. No one spoke -- no one knew what was happening, Beth had never heard of anything like this before -- 

And the dueling wizards were lifted into the air, wands still bound by the shimmering gold light. 

Beth watched thunderstruck as the pair of them floated over the graves and off to a clear space several yards away. Both were fighting, it seemed, to keep hold of their wands, which leapt in their hands like newly-caught trout. They landed and the golden light shattered into a fantastic web of gold that surrounded them both in a celestial dome. 

Somebody grabbed Beth's arm. 

"Now," barked Evan. 

The Death Eaters were disbanded, confused, out of control. Without looking back, Beth turned on her heel and sprinted after Evan, across the graveyard, toward the swell of earth where the Society crypt stood. 

She skidded and slowed as they passed the Riddle tombstone. "Hang on --" She turned and pulled her wand out, even in mid-stride, and screamed, _"Accio Ledger!"_ The enormous old book came soaring into her arms. She tore off after Evan again. 

Evan reached the crypt first. He thrust his ring against the broad marble wall and sank through without a glance back. Beth shifted the Ledger to one arm and pressed her ring into the indentation of the crest. The wall enveloped her like a warm mist and set her free inside the tomb. 

It was just as she remembered. The smooth walls were covered with the carved names of members past and present, flanked by the year of their induction. Some bore a ring in a little niche beside the name: the members who no longer lived to wear them. There was no ring beside Tom Riddle's name. 

"Apparate us." 

Beth looked at Evan. The boy had torn off his mask; it lay crumpled at his feet, while his dark eyes danced feverishly. Beth reached up and ripped away her own mask. Her legs went weak as she suddenly realized everything she had seen, everything that still lay outside the crypt walls ... everything that might still be after her ... 

"You can't Apparate onto the grounds ..." she said, voice trembling. 

"Apparate to Hogsmeade!" cried Evan. "We can walk from there!" He thrust his hand against the carved name of Jules Rothbard, high on the stone wall, and reeled back. "I can see him -- he knows where we are -- he's coming -- but Gina's in the way, I saw her lunge ..." 

Beth barely heard him. Her eyes were drawn to the wall of names. 

"Look! Look at Riddle's name --" 

The stone around the carved name of Tom Riddle gave a shiver. The smooth granite shuddered and began to melt together. In a moment, the name of Riddle was entirely gone. Then, with barely a pause in between, a new engraving rose in its place. 

It was as Beth expected. The slot now read "Lord Voldemort." 

"He's replaced himself," said Evan softly. Beth didn't try to process what he had said. She shook her head sharply and strode away from the wall. 

"I need to think. I can't just Apparate -- I've only done it in class ... I need to concentrate ..." She put down the Ledger. _"Attenuus."_ The book shrank to the size of a postcard. Beth picked it back up and stuffed it into her pocket. 

"If you don't concentrate, we're both going to be killed!" Evan roared. He turned and pressed his palm against Rothbard's name again, then drew away as if burnt. "He's dead." 

"What?" Beth felt like she was on a broken carousel. 

"Gina has him ..." 

The masks which Rothbard had conjured faded back into thin air. 

"Oh ..." 

"Think," Evan urged. "We don't know who else was following us. We need to get out before anyone else realizes we're gone." 

"I ... just a minute ..." 

Beth felt sick at the thought of Rothbard and dizzy with fright. Which was worse, a horde of Death Eaters or splinching in a place where no one could find you? She looked helplessly back at the door, as if she could find the answer carved there along with the Society crest. 

"We don't have a minute," Evan hissed. Without warning, he reared back and slapped her across the cheek. 

Clarity shot through Beth's brain as sharp as the sound of Evan hitting her. With it came resolve. 

First she slapped Evan back, as hard as she could. Evan stood his ground with a perversely proud expression on his face. "Come on, give me your hands," she barked. She reached out and grabbed his hands before he could offer them. "Now shut up and let me concentrate." 

Beth took a deep breath. "_Ceteris paribus._" The rings flashed red and faded. She closed her eyes and forced her whirling brain to slow down and be silent. Hogsmeade, she must think of nothing but Hogsmeade and Madame Hooch, drilling instructions into their brains. She must concentrate ... 

"_Disapparate._" 

There was a sickening lurch and a flash of bright light that Beth saw even through the lids of her eyes. A rush of air whistled past her ears and died down. Her feet felt strange -- were they in midair, or on solid ground? She couldn't tell -- 

The whooshing noise stopped and the two of them were plunged into silence. 

Beth swallowed hard and opened her eyes. Her heart leapt -- they stood in the middle of the dark street in Hogsmeade village, surrounded by familiar shops and restaurants and -- and people safe in those buildings who knew nothing of what had gone on in the graveyard -- people who would kill them if they knew -- 

Evan swayed dizzily for a moment; then he let go of Beth's hands and opened his eyes. 

"I'll be back by tonight," he said. 

Without another word, Evan took off down the dark streets of Hogsmeade and disappeared into an alley. 

Beth stared helplessly after him. Where could she go, with this skull like a brand on her arm? Who could she speak to, when she had seen death rise before her, when she had seen good and evil do battle, but didn't know the outcome? She looked down at her hands and her gaze was drawn to the skull, charcoal-black and stark in the nighttime pallor. _I wish it_ had _been burnt off,_ she thought fiercely, and for the first time tears began to rise in her eyes. 

There was a whoosh behind her -- the unmistakable sound of Apparation -- and Beth leaped backward, simultaneously whirling around and drawing her wand. "Get away!" she said shrilly, not caring who it might be, but a pleading voice came through the darkness: 

"Bethy. Don't." 

Lycaeon emerged from the shadows. His eyes were hollow as they had been a year ago, in the dark cell of Azkaban, and he clutched a wand in one hand as if he were clinging to life itself. Clutched in his other hand was a rumpled mask. 

Beth shook at the sight of him but didn't lower her wand from where it pointed at his chest. _"How could you do that to me?"_ she shrieked, hot fury rising to mingle with the fear. 

"Beth ..." Lycaeon held out his hands pleadingly. The sight of the mask only made Beth madder. 

"How could you go back?" she demanded shrilly. "After what you said at the trial -- he left you in prison --" 

Lycaeon dropped his hands and clutched the mask more tightly. "You don't know what it was like!" His voice rose to a shout. "You don't know how strong he can be -- He knows who I am. I can't stay away. Those who run will be killed -- you heard him --- but this way ..." He threw his wand to the ground. "I stole that so that I could Apparate at the Dark Lord's call. They'll send me back to Azkaban for it ... _but it's better than betraying our Lord._ And it won't be for long -- he'll break me out soon, you'll see -- it won't be long ... then I'll be honored, instead of tortured ... glorified, instead of killed ..." 

There was a wild light in his eyes, and for a moment Beth was tempted to think that he was as mad as Chris or their mother. But he was sane, if haunted, and that was more frightening: a man in his right mind chose the drain of dementors over the wrath of Voldemort. 

"You don't know what it was like," Lycaeon said again, and his face was ashen. "He kept wanting us to kill Dad, for being a Squib -- he threatened to kill you --" He broke off. "I don't know about Mother -- she was always -- well -- but we, Chris and I, we did it to protect you." 

Beth stared at him, stunned, and lowered her wand. 

"He was all-powerful," Lycaeon went on, half muttering in the shadows. "He was everything. He was the future. It was life or death. And I ... I've had half a life ... but it could have been none at all." 

Neither of them moved. 

A whooshing noise came from behind them and suddenly a large hand was on Lycaeon's shoulder. "Parson, I thought you had more sense," came a rough, disgusted voice. "Stealing a wand. That move'll get you straight back into Azkaban." 

Lycaeon barely moved as his parole officer hoisted him into the light of a street lamp. "Sorry, miss," the officer said to Beth, binding Lycaeon's hands with a flick of his wand. 

Beth shook herself out of her stupor. "No!" she cried, leaping forward. "It was me -- I mean, he took it for me -- it wasn't him --" But her lies were tangled on her tongue and fell useless into the air. "Stop, don't --" 

And suddenly she was alone in the dark street. 


	22. The Summons

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Summons**

Beth walked back to Hogwarts like a woman in a dream. 

She kept her eyes on the road in front of her, except when a snap or rustle from the side of the road made her jump and gaze about wildly into the darkness, certain that a Death Eater, or a Ministry official, or the ghost of Rothbard had followed her this far with murder on his mind. She was numb with exhaustion. She could barely process everything that had happened in the past few hours, and truthfully, she didn't want to try. 

Finally the broad iron gates stretched over her head. One of the winged hogs that flanked it glanced down at her and grunted an affirmation; she slipped inside, at last in the safety of the Hogwarts grounds once again. 

She was barely halfway to the stone steps when a figure came racing out of the Entrance Hall. Her heart leapt in terror, then slowed -- it was Richard. He looked at once terrified and immensely grateful to see her. He approached her anxiously. 

"Beth! Thank heavens --" 

Beth was almost too tired to wonder at anything anymore, but she asked, "How did you know where I was?" 

"Audra told me," he said, distracted and relieved. "Oh Beth -- we had no idea where you were --" 

"Diggory's dead," she said dully, not meeting his eyes. 

Richard reached her and impulsively took her arms. "Yes," he said, in an unreadable tone. "Where have you --" 

"So is Rothbard." 

"Oh --" Richard staggered. "We felt the rings go cold ... I thought ... I wondered ..." He drew a long breath. "Oh Beth," he said softly, tilting her chin up with one gentle finger, "what have you been through?" 

The tears came. Tired, stunned, and afraid, she slumped against Richard's chest, unable to hold back the sobs. His arms moved awkwardly for a moment and finally embraced her. Neither of them spoke and they made no move to sit; like statues they stood straight, interwoven, silent. 

Eventually the sobbing subsided and Beth was able to take a few deep breaths. She didn't want to move. She would be happy to stand there for the rest of her life. 

Richard, though, moved away so that Beth was forced to raise her head from his chest. He regarded her carefully for a moment. Then he bent down and gently kissed her lips. 

They parted a heartbeat later. 

Beth sniffed back tears. "Why did you do that?" 

"I ... It seemed ... right." Richard looked stricken for a moment. "Do you mind?" 

"No, I --" She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "I've actually been waiting a long time for that." 

"Oh." Richard tenderly wiped the tears from one cheek. "In that case I'll do it again." 

And he did. 

***

The members were waiting for them in the Chamber of Secrets. Evan was not among them; Beth wondered if he'd ever be back at all. 

"He will," said Audra quietly. 

Beth looked down at the implacable white-haired girl. "I wouldn't be so sure," she said tiredly. 

"I would." Richard's eyes lit up and he smiled at Audra. "Audra, you're brilliant. You're fantastic ..." He turned to Beth and took both of her hands. "When you and Evan went off with Rothbard, she came and told me she was worried ... we didn't get to you fast enough. Then Diggory and Potter came back. She took one look at them and knew where they'd been. She knew you'd be back soon. She'd been in a trance since they disappeared ..." 

Without warning, he swooped down and kissed Audra in the middle of her forehead. 

"Our little Audra," he said proudly, "is a bona-fide first-rate Seer." 

Beth stared at the tiny gray-eyed witch. Of course -- Audra's introspection, her sense of quiet secret all made clear sense. Beth remembered something she'd said at the beginning of the year. For a true Seer, Divination really was a waste of time. 

"Perhaps," said Audra quietly, gliding across the room to take a seat beside Melissa, "only second-rate." 

"First," Richard insisted. He looked over at Beth again. "You need to tell us what you and Evan saw." 

Beth looked into his fearless brown eyes. 

"All right," she said. 

She tried to tell the story without thinking about it too much. She didn't look at anyone and spoke directly to the floor, summing up the events of the evening in an impassive voice. No one was surprised when she told them that Cedric Diggory had died. No one spoke up while she was describing the horribly one-sided duel. She finished with the half-globe of golden light surrounding Potter and the Dark Lord, and the flight to the crypt and to Hogsmeade. 

Mervin broke the spell of silence. "That's it?" 

Beth looked up at him. "Yes, that's it, I was running away after that," she snapped. 

Bruce interrupted. "Harry Potter made it back somehow. He had Cedric with him. Moody dragged him off to his office. As far as I know, Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall are up there now. Sprout's with the Diggorys so Flitwick's in charge ... the whole place is like a madhouse," he said, looking at Beth. "We met here when we realized we'd lost you two, and that we'd do the most good by staying out of the way." 

Richard nodded, looking like the decision to avoid all activity had nearly killed him. "But now we know where you've been," he said, looking at Beth with vast relief. "And if Evan's in Hogsmeade, he's safer than he was." He glanced around the room. "Herne, I'd like you to wait down here in case he shows up. Bruce, please stay in the Vase Room, for the same reason. Mervin --" He hesitated, then glanced at the fourth-years. "Blaise. Please wait in the common room." Blaise looked pleased and surprised to be included. "Audra --?" 

He glanced over at the white-haired girl. 

She shrugged. "He's still in Hogsmeade." 

"All right, then he hasn't gotten on a train or anything. He'll be back. I need to go check in with Dumbledore -- he'll want the prefects, I'm sure -- Melissa, do your best to keep the Slytherins under control until I get back, will you? You have my full permission to use a Sleeping Spell on anyone you want." Richard looked around at them thoughtfully. "I want to meet again tomorrow at two, here in the Chamber. In the meantime, go back to the dormitories and get some rest. It's been a long day." 

They filed out of the Chamber of Secrets and crept up the stone staircase to the girls' lavatory, slipping into the hallway one by one. Those of them who hadn't been given assignments made their way down to the dungeons. 

Beth almost expected the common room to be in an uproar, but it was, if anything, more quiet than usual. Here and there, pairs or small groups of people talked in low voices; laughter even sprang up once in a while. It was also quite empty. Most of the students had already gone to bed. Didn't they know? Beth thought, despairing. Or didn't they care? 

She didn't notice that the atmosphere of the room was anything but calm. It was, in fact, thick with anticipation. The remaining students were waiting for news from the outside. Until then, there was nothing to be done. 

Beth walked wearily back to her bedroom and fell into bed without changing her clothes. A sharp corner dug into her thigh ... almost mindlessly, she struggled out of her cloak, remembering the book in her pocket. 

_I have to remember to give Richard the Ledger,_ she thought, and two seconds later she was fast asleep. 

***

No one had seen Evan come back in the night before, but he was there at breakfast, as cool and collected as he had ever been. The Great Hall, Beth saw, was filled -- even the Hufflepuffs had all made it, though they looked strained and worried. The students had come for the mail, the newspaper, the company, the interaction ... they had all come for news. 

They were not disappointed. Even before food appeared at the tables, Dumbledore rose to his feet and talk and shuffling immediately ceased. Beth thought he looked quite tired. 

"There are two matters," he said, "which I would like to briefly note. First, for the rest of the school year, all Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have been cancelled." 

There was a cheer from the Gryffindor table that was hastily muffled. 

"Secondly," Dumbledore said, towering over the Great Hall like an ancient cliff, "Mr. Harry Potter is currently being treated in the hospital wing. He will be rejoining you all, I believe, this evening." His bearing exuded great calm and great seriousness. "It is my hope that he will not be badgered for details about what happened during the Third Task, and that he will not be pestered or bothered even by the most well-meaning of you. Thank you, in advance, for this kindness." 

He sat back down. Instantly, the Great Hall was filled with the buzzing of gossip, speculation, wonder. The Slytherins were largely silent, content to sit and listen to the rumors fly, certain that exclusive accounts of the evening -- straight from the mouths of parents, perhaps -- would come out very soon. 

Beth wasn't surprised when her family owl swooped down to drop a note beside her plate. 

    _Bethy-   
    Your brother has been sent back to Azkaban for violation of his   
    parole. I hope to have his bedroom restored to a guest room by   
    the time you come home.   
                                Love,   
                                Dad
_

There was a great deal of pain behind her father's curt words. Beth closed her eyes, let out a long sigh, and put the letter away. "It won't be long," she said aloud. 

Melissa looked over at her worriedly. "What's that?" 

"Something my brother said." 

Her friend looked down at the table, embarrassed, then glanced around for something else to talk about. 

Evan beat her to the punch. "So Moody's gone," he said, smug satisfaction on every inch of his face. "Someone told me he was kissed by a Dementor. For a Dark Arts professor, you'd think his Patronus would be stronger." 

Melissa glanced at him in distaste, but Beth found that she couldn't blame Evan for his obvious delight. 

"Actually," came Richard's voice, "it wasn't Moody at all." 

He sat down with them. 

Evan's face fell. "Then ..." 

"I'll tell you at two o'clock," Richard said firmly. "Dumbledore and I still have a few things to talk about." He glanced at Evan's face. "Eat your food. You're looking pale again." 

Evan sat back in his chair, cloaked in deep disappointment, and pushed his plate away. 

***

At two o'clock on the mark, Richard came into the Chamber of Secrets, bursting with information and desperate to share it. Potter had given Dumbledore an account of what went on in the graveyard before Beth and Evan had arrived, and after they left. In exchange, Richard had told him the truth of what happened to Jules Rothbard -- although, he assured Beth and Evan, he didn't reveal how he'd found out. 

The story was incredible -- it had to do with Mr. Crouch's son and Professor Moody ... shadows of the Dark Lord's victims ... Bertha Jorkins ... phoenix feathers... an ancient concoction of Potter's blood and snake venom ... 

At the mention of the potion, Beth remembered something. "Here," she said, and thrust her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the shrunken Ledger. "I reduced it to quarter-size so I could carry it back -- whatever spell the Dark Lord used to restore himself, he must have gotten it out of the Ledger, because it was open on the ground, beside our big stone cauldron." The mystery finally pieced together in her head. "Only a member could've gotten them ... he's the founding member, of course he could get into the Chamber of Secrets ... and the Vase Room ..." 

Richard was gazing at the Ledger as if it were made of solid gold. Wordlessly, he took it from Beth and laid it on the podium. He pulled out his wand and resized the book, which let off spurts of dust as it grew, flipping through its own pages as if it were stretching from a long sleep. Richard reached out a shaking hand to open the cover. 

"Don't touch it." 

Audra had spoken. Richard pulled back his hand at the last moment. Audra stood from her spot and moved forward very slowly and deliberately. Without saying a word, she laid a hand on the cover of the Ledger and closed her eyes. 

The S.S.A. exchanged astonished glances. No one dared to breath. 

Suddenly Audra opened her eyes ... and her mouth. "I see." 

Her voice was very soft and low, but it echoed perfectly in the deadly silence. Richard reached out and covered her hand with his own. "What do you see?" he asked, very quietly. 

Her cool gray eyes met his. "I see who stole this Ledger." 

Richard stared back at her. He seemed like he hardly dared to ask ... but after a very long pause, he whispered, "Who?" 

Audra closed her eyes again. 

"A man with a silver hand," she said. "_A man who turned into a rat._" 

There was a moment of complete silence. 

"Peter Pettigrew," said Richard. 

He told them everything he had heard from Dumbledore. It was extraordinary -- a man named Peter Pettigrew -- Death Eater -- friend of the Potters, friend of Sirius Black -- rat Animagus -- pet of the Weasleys', under the name of Scabbers -- had run away and been renamed Rat, though Dumbledore didn't know that -- had vanished at the end of the previous year and been helping the Dark Lord return to power ever since. It all made perfect sense. Rat had been in the Vase Room, he would've known the location and the password. He could've gotten into the Chamber of Secrets with the Dark Lord's S.S.A. ring, which must have been stashed away with his wand when he became incorporeal. It explained how he got into the castle -- hadn't Rita Skeeter and Daedalus done the same thing? -- and how he had disappeared even under Dell's eyes. He hadn't Disapparated, Beth realized. He had turned into a rat and scurried away. 

Neither of their headquarters was safe. Beth wondered if they would ever be again. 

***

Class resumed the next day: those idle, irrelevant end-of year sessions designed only to keep the students occupied in the few days before holiday. Though the S.S.A members were now arguably the best-informed students at Hogwarts, there were still parts of the story that were missing. There were still questions that needed answered. 

Melissa found one when she realized that the Headmaster of Durmstrang was no longer at the Head Table. 

"Andrei," she said, leaning across the table to where the Durmstrangers sat, "where is Professor Karkaroff?" 

"Karkaroff is gone," said Andrei curtly. 

Beth and her friends exchanged baffled glances. "Gone?" said Melissa carefully. "But -- he wasn't the one who, you know --" 

Katya, who had her head down, spoke very quietly. "Pozhirateli Smerti." 

Some of her classmates shuddered. 

The Slytherins exchanged glances. Then everyone turned to look at Bruce. 

"Pozhirateli Smerti ..." he said slowly. "Death Eater." 

The clamor of the owl post cut off the conversation. Here and there, letters fell among the students, but a whole flock made its way to the Slytherins and left the table littered with parchment. A slim brown envelope drifted onto Beth's toast. She picked it up just as she saw an identical one slide onto Melissa's plate. Bruce snatched his out of the air; another landed on top of Mervin's head. 

Up and down the table, the Society members had all received the same sort of letter. 

Beth picked hers up and looked it over, but the envelope was unmarked. Casting a curious glance at Richard, she slit open the envelope with her butter knife and read the enclosed letter. 

    _Fellow Members of the Society for Slytherin Advancement: _

    Owing to the resurrection of our founder Mr. Tom Riddle, known of late   
    as Lord Voldemort, and the unexpected demise of our former president   
    Mr. Jules Rothbard, and according to the rules of the organization, our   
    founder has taken his rightful place as the president of our Society. 

    Our first meeting under this resumed leadership will take place at   
    midnight in the crypt marked "SMITHERS" in the churchyard of Little   
    Hangleton on July the seventeenth and will include instructions for all   
    alumni and student members. Attendance is mandatory. 

    Your Loyal Secretary,   
    Ebenezer Nott 

Beth gaped down at her letter. She looked up quickly and saw the message sink into her fellow members, one by one. Bruce crumpled the letter angrily. Mervin was reading it in complete disbelief, turning the page over and over as if expecting something more to appear. Herne was very pale, but Richard, beside him, flushed a high red and thinned his mouth. Blaise and Morag exchanged glances before hiding their letters in their pockets. Gypsy, looking furious, set hers aflame and refused to tell the Durmstrangers what it said. 

Richard stood up abruptly and all eyes turned to him. "Five o'clock," he said firmly. Then he stormed away. 

***

They met in the Vase Room. 

Richard stood in the front, beside the newly-restored Ledger, gripping the letter from Ebenezer Nott in one hand. "Well," he said, his voice as tight as his fist, "it appears that we are under new management." 

Blaise let out a helpless, haunted giggle. Several people glared at her and she tried to silence herself. 

Richard took a breath. "I don't know what to tell you," he said at last. "A force much more powerful than me is making decisions for us. We've been recruited for the Dark Lord's army. I want to say that -- I want to apologize to everyone here. I helped choose to induct you." He met Beth's eyes. "I wish you didn't have to face this." She blushed brilliantly but didn't break his gaze. 

"Well, we do," Mervin said tersely, his voice brittle. "What now?" 

Richard turned to him. "We have no choice but to go along with it. We'll be killed otherwise. But --" he raised his hand against the angry exclamations that rose up "-- but we're not going to make it easy for him." 

The light of battle was in his eyes. Beth saw suddenly why he had waited to gather, instead of calling a meeting immediately. He had been planning. 

"The July 17th meeting is mandatory, but Ebenezer Nott has to accept it if you can't make it -- you're all minors, except for me and Gypsy, and they won't recognize your worth. They'll think you're expendable. Anyone who was here for the Chamber of Secrets incident should try to find some prior appointment so that they can avoid coming. I think we're in for some Crucio." 

There was a flicker of fear across his eyes that was quickly hidden. 

"We aren't inducting anyone next year." There was another brief whisper that ran across the Vase Room. "I'm appointing Melissa to be the President next year. I know you can handle it," he said gently, and she nodded, biting her lip. "We also aren't giving him the Ledger. I'm keeping it. I'll pretend to lose it -- no matter what, just say that I had it the last time you saw it. We need that resource and I'm not going to let the Dark Lord get it back." 

"He'd kill you to get it," Beth said quietly. 

Richard gave her a grim smile. "He wouldn't. I'm his youngest successor." 

_An heir of the Dark Lord,_ Beth thought, and swallowed hard. 

Richard looked around at them all in turn. "Our heritage," he said slowly, "does not have to be our future. Riddle's going to find that the Society today isn't the one he left. I'll find our friends -- Dave Gudgeon, Celestina Warbeck -- Bode and Croaker -- the ones we know, the ones we can trust -- and we'll come up with something. If we let him rule us now, we stand a chance of breaking his rule later." 

He turned his gaze to the wall of the Vase Room, where the silver Special Award for Services to the School stood. "Going to be an interesting year. Our secrets will be more important than ever." He smiled wearily. 

"Good luck to you all. Gloria --" The words caught in his throat. "I mean -- be safe." 


	23. The Parting of Ways

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Parting of Ways**

"The end," said Dumbledore, "of another year." 

The Hall was deathly silent; every eye was on the headmaster. The End-of-Year feast felt more like a funeral -- in truth, that's exactly what they were doing, laying Cedric's memory to rest. The black drapes weren't necessary to darken the atmosphere, when it had been so dark for days. 

The spot where Karkaroff had sat was empty; Mad-Eye Moody was there, but looked like he'd been through hell. Beth thought briefly of the many different people who had sat at that table: Quirrell, dead; Lockhart, regrowing a memory at St. Mungo's; Lupin, under the stigma of lycanthropy; Mr. Crouch, murdered by his own son. How many more, Beth thought, trembling; how many more would come and go? 

Dumbledore turned to face the Hufflepuffs, calm and sad. 

"There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight, but first I must acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory." 

Like a single unit, every person in the Great Hall stood and raised their glasses. Beth caught a glance down the table at Bruce -- his face was very drawn. Melissa looked as if she wanted to cry. "Cedric Diggory," they intoned together, and Richard's mouth twisted in an unreadable expression. It was many moments before they all sat down again. 

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore went on. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about." 

Beth looked up in disbelief. He knew about the Transcongus Brew? Down the table, she saw Richard tense. 

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort." 

If Richard was eased by this statement, he didn't show it. The other houses reacted with panic, astonishment -- but many of the Slytherins showed no hint of surprise. Beth met Evan's eyes with a weary kinship. Mixed among them, the Durmstrang students barely blinked at the announcement, but looked down at the table as if personally ashamed. _We all know someone who was there,_ Beth thought, and she felt sick. 

Dumbledore waited, calmly, until the Hall was quiet as every student waited for him to say something more -- an explanation, reassurance, directions on what to do now that the unthinkable had occurred. He went on: 

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so -- either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think that I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory." 

Richard's face tightened again, and suddenly Beth recognized the expression he wore. It was guilt. "We tried," she said softly, but he muttered back: 

"Our snake. Our Ledger. Our cauldron." 

She couldn't argue against that. 

"There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," said Dumbledore, turning his attention from the Hufflepuff table to the Gryffindors. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter." 

More whispers. A flicker crossed Draco's eyes before he returned his gaze to Dumbledore, his face carefully expressionless. 

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him." 

He raised his glass in the direction of the Gryffindor table, meeting Potter's eyes. One by one the rest of the Great Hall joined him ... all save the Slytherins. Some stood, but others closed off their faces and refused to follow. Beth looked around at her peers, swallowed hard, and remembered what she had seen: Potter, tied to a gravestone, bleeding ... Potter, writhing in pain ... Potter, daring to turn his wand against the most powerful, dangerous, fearsome wizard in the word. She stood up abruptly. "Harry Potter," she said defiantly, with the rest of the students, and the S.S.A. joined her. 

Dumbledore waited until everyone had once more taken their seats. He continued: 

"The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened -- of Lord Voldemort's return -- such ties are more important than ever before." 

He turned his gaze to the Beauxbatons students, and then to the Durmstrangers at the Slytherin table. Many of them wouldn't meet his eyes. 

"Every guest in this Hall will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come," he said firmly. "I say to you all, once again -- in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity are very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open." 

Gypsy and Josef glanced at each other. They were both very pale. 

"It is my belief -- and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken -- that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort." His eyes flickered to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang sat silently weeping. "Many of your families have been torn asunder." 

He turned his gaze -- that kind but piercing hawk's-gaze -- to the Slytherins, and Beth felt a thrill of cold fear. Did he know? _Did he know?_ And she knew that from now on, no matter whom she passed in the street, she would always wonder: Do they know? 

Dumbledore's attention shifted to the Hufflepuffs, and out of the corner of her eye Beth saw Evan very slightly relax. 

"A week ago, a student was taken from our midst." 

The Hufflepuffs were sad and silent. 

"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory." 

Beth stared at her plate long after Dumbledore had stopped speaking and the meal, subdued, had begun. Her brother had already made the choice between the right and the easy -- and he had chosen wrong. What would she do? What would her friends do? The choice would have been so simple before ... but now that she had seen the frightening power of the Dark Lord ... and they who wore the crest of Voldemort on their fingers, did they even have a choice? 

She did not eat. She was not the only one. 

***

They met one last time in the Vase Room, on the night before the Hogwarts Express would take them home. No one had much to say. Everything would be explained, proven or destroyed at the Society meeting on the 17th of July. 

Beth looked over at Evan. "He's going to be mad at us." 

Evan looked back with bleak eyes. 

"Buck up, chaps," Richard said finally. His voice was heavy with false cheer. "We'll do all right. We've been through worse -- and now we have the Ledger." 

"Goody," said Mervin morosely. 

His comment gave way to nervous, then genuine laughter. 

"It's important --" said Richard, now sounding nothing but annoyed. He broke off. The door to the Vase Room slid open and Albus Dumbledore came inside. Gradually the membership fell silent. 

Dumbledore stopped in the middle of the floor and took a moment to look around. "Miss Arendt --?" 

"She decided that she should spend this time with her classmates," Richard explained, looking a little embarrassed. "What can we do for you?" 

"Mr. Shaw," said Dumbledore. "Once again I ask for the allegiance of the Society." 

Richard looked back at him, and Beth realized with a start that he was nearly as tall as the headmaster. He's grown up, she thought. I never noticed, but he's an adult. Richard's eyes flickered to the ground beside Blaise, where one of Ebenezer Nott's summons lay half-crumpled. 

"I'm sorry, sir," said Richard, with some effort, "but I can't promise that." 

That didn't sound like Richard. Beth looked from him to Dumbledore, trying to figure out what was going on. Why would Richard remove himself from Dumbledore now, when they needed each other the most? 

The walls of the crypt. 

Beth sat there, stunned, as the implications washed over her. Any member could view another member just by touching their name on the wall of the crypt. Lord Voldemort had access to them all, they were connected by the rings ... he could be spying on them _at that moment_ ... 

Richard had realized it too. The Society would have to distance itself from the Dark Lord's enemies. 

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. "Yes," he said at last, "I see that your loyalty is a great request. I only hope that you will do, as you have always done, what you think is best." 

The air in the Vase Room felt thicker somehow. Beth wished she were somewhere else. 

"Headmaster," Richard said, meeting his eyes with difficulty, "we have always tried to ... to do what you ask of us. Let me ask you something now." 

Dumbledore nodded kindly. "Go on." 

"Please don't meddle in our affairs from now on." Richard swallowed hard. "It will only be worse for us ... if you ..." he trailed off, voice rising miserably. 

Dumbledore raised his chin slightly, keeping his piercing blue eyes firmly on Richard's. "Mr. Shaw," he said softly, "so long as I am Headmaster at this school, I will never ignore any one of its students." He paused. "If you would go on without me, so be it ... but I will never be far behind." 

"So long as you're out of sight," Richard whispered. 

The Vase Room was deathly still. Now no one met Dumbledore's eyes; only Evan, hollow and fearless behind his dark bangs, dared look the Headmaster in the face. Finally Dumbledore nodded slowly. His face seemed tireder. "I will accept, for now, that you are unwilling to dedicate yourselves so deeply to a cause you may not understand," he said. "I only ask that you consider what I have said. I may call on your help in the future. I hope that you will give it." He paused. "I have already received such an assurance from the Ravenclaws." 

Richard looked up at him. "The Ravenclaws, sir?" 

"Why, Mr. Shaw," said Dumbledore, blue eyes large and wise, "surely you didn't think that yours is the only secret society in the history of Hogwarts school?" 

Richard flushed a brilliant scarlet. "Of -- of course not, sir," he stammered. 

Dumbledore made a slight bow and left the Vase Room. 

Richard watched the door through which he had exited for a long time. His mouth worked wordlessly for a while. Then he threw his hands into the air and sank into the armchair, complete disbelief on his face. 

"The _Ravenclaws!_" 

***

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students departed from the grounds early the next morning. The Slytherins spent their last breakfast with the Durmstrang students, talking normally, pretending that they weren't really saying goodbye, that none of them had to face this strange darkness that had fallen on the earth. Only as the foreign students gathered around their ship did the Slytherins begin to say their goodbyes. 

Viktor and Bruce shook hands warmly. "You play Kvidditch very vell," said Viktor. "I am sure I vill play against you some day in t'e national leagues." 

Bruce flushed pink. "I hope so," he said, suddenly bashful. "Hope the Vultures have a good season. Write me if you're playing over here." 

Viktor smiled. "I vill." He climbed up the gangplank and disappeared into the ship. 

Andrei was telling Melissa how he wasn't excited to return to school. "Ve sent an owl to Professor Denisovich, about vot happened to Karkaroff," he explained, "but ve vill all haff to explain it in person." 

Gypsy's reaction was more venomous. "At least that horrible man won't be around for graduation," she said. 

"I'll miss him," Josef declared. "Who vill scowl at me vhile I receive my diploma?" 

His classmates laughed. "I'll do it," Andrei volunteered. He twirled an imaginary goatee. "Poliakoff! Vot haff I told you about t'at cocky grin?" 

Josef bowed in mock obeisance. "T'at I should vipe it off my face, Headmaster." He stood up straight and a look of satisfaction came over his face. "Durmstrang is going to change, I t'ink." 

"And only for the better," said Gypsy firmly. She turned to look at Richard. "Well, Rich ..." She started forward. 

Richard reached out and shook her hand. "I'll be in touch," he said. 

"Yes ..." Gypsy looked down at their joined hands and sadly let go. "Have a safe summer, Rich. Beth." 

"You too," said Beth. Now there were many things to stay safe from. 

Gypsy started up the gangplank. Josef came over to Beth, nervously rubbing his neck. 

"May I haff a vord, Beth?" 

Beth gave him half a smile. "All right." 

They strolled a few paces away from the thinning group. Josef stopped. He turned to look at her, and his face was as serious as it had ever been. 

"You and Richard ... I saw you holding hands." He blushed pink but pressed on. "Are you happy?" 

Beth looked over at Richard. There was very much wrong with the world, but this one thing was entirely right. "Yes. I am." 

Josef let out a short sigh and forced himself to smile. "Then I vill be happy for you," he said. He took a deep breath. "If you ever ..." 

Beth reached out and took his hands. "Thank you." She reached up unexpectedly and gave him a hug. 

She pulled away to find Josef smiling. "It vos a pleasure to spend t'e year vith you," he said grandly. He bent down and kissed her hand, just as showily as he had when they first met more than a year ago on the grounds of Durmstrang. "Haff a vonderful summer." 

"Thanks," said Beth. She glanced over at Richard again. "I think I might." 

Josef bowed once last time and jogged back to the ship. He boarded and the gangplank came up after him; the students dispersed to the various parts of the ship; a fantastic whirlpool built up around them and the noble ship sank majestically into the water until even its highest mast had been swallowed. 

The lake showed no ripple. 

The school year was at last over. 

***

The Hogwarts Express shone a brilliant red under the shimmering June sun. Students swarmed about the station excitedly. They were young and alive, the sun was bright in a blue sky, they would all see their families again soon, vacation had finally come -- even the past few days couldn't blot the joy of these simple truths. 

Beth and her friends packed their things into one compartment. The crowd was starting to thin down as student crammed onto the train for their final trip of the year. Melissa climbed inside to save a seat as Bruce packed the last of his trunks. 

"Hey, Bletchley. Come to say goodbye." 

It was Kiesha. Bruce caught sight of her and ran a high flush. "Oh. Hi." He sounded at once delighted and terrified to see her. "Goodbye -- right. Um." 

She looked at him with tender eyes, an amused smile on her brown and freckled face. 

"I ... er, I'm going to miss you ... I mean, have a good summer ..." Bruce shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground. "I'll, um, see you next year ..." 

"You silly thing," she said kindly. "Just kiss me." 

Beth smiled and turned away as Bruce hesitantly obliged. 

The last few stragglers were packing their final suitcases and trunks. Several cars down, Richard was loading the last of his parcels into a storage car. He finished and caught sight of Beth. They moved toward one another and met in the center of the platform. 

"I'm working on a plan," he said immediately. He reached out and took both her hands in his own. 

"Richard, _be careful._" 

"I'll be fine. We'll all be fine." He gripped her hands fervently. "I'm going to make it all right." 

Beth smiled at him, a little sadly. "You can't make it all right on your own." 

"I know." He sighed and met her eyes. "That's why I'm going to need you." 

Beth flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

She kissed him fervently and passionately -- as if she might never see him again -- as if they might never have a moment together that was free of fear -- long and lingering, uncertain of everything except the fact that she wanted to stay here, on the platform in Hogsmeade, in Richard's arms, forever. Richard's embrace was firm and desperate. She released him gently and let her hands rest on his shoulders as she looked into his face ... the handsome straight nose and the careworn forehead. If she lost him she would be losing part of herself. 

He didn't open his eyes right away; instead he leaned his forehead on hers and took her hands again. "It's going to be so hard," he whispered. Finally he heaved a sigh as deep as the sea and straightened up. He opened his eyes to see Beth gazing back at him. "Don't worry," he said, and gave her hands a final squeeze. He cleared his throat. "I'm riding back with my classmates. Last time, eh?" He laughed, a little shakily. "I'll miss all this." 

The long whistle of the train rang mournfully over their heads. 

"We have to go," said Richard, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

"I'll see you soon," Beth whispered back. 

They parted without looking back. It would be all too soon when they met again -- on the seventeenth of July, when the Society would learn its own fate from the man who had founded it. 

And the whistle of the Hogwarts Express was as shrill and cold as the cry of a banshee ... 

**Finis**


End file.
